


Meet on the Ledge

by Lorien, Lucidnancyboy



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: BDSM, Bisexual Tony Stark, Bottom Bucky Barnes, Canon Divergent, Captain America Reverse Big Bang 2019, Comedy, Corsetry, Erotica, Explicit Language, F/M, Goats, Humor, Light BDSM, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Panic Attacks, Pining, Post-Black Panther (2018), Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Romance, Sexual Content, Stoner Steve, Stucky (background), This is a Bucky/Tony story (with a side of Steve), Top Tony Stark, brief mention of past sexual violence/rape, winteriron
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-19
Updated: 2019-05-22
Packaged: 2020-03-08 04:19:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 41,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18887050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lorien/pseuds/Lorien, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lucidnancyboy/pseuds/Lucidnancyboy
Summary: Bucky Barnes. Tony had no idea where to even start.The ‘hypothetical’ mission to Wakanda to help a sassy princess build an arm for a ‘hypothetical’ one-armed man? The annoying chickens at Old MacDonald’s farm? Tony and Bucky bonding over boner jokes? Or should he jump right ahead to the part where Steve’s Boo from days of yore had asked Tony to tie him up? (Yeah, you read that right)Somehow, what had started out as a ‘simple’ favor had become so much more, and now Tony found himself stuck between the stoner formerly known as Captain America and Bucky’s wonderfully fuzzy chest.Maybe it wasn’t the beginning of the story that Tony should be worried about...





	1. Shampoo as an Aphrodisiac: A Discussion

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to our collaboration for the 2019 Captain America Reverse Big Bang! We will be posting one chapter and one drawing per day through Wednesday, May 22nd. 
> 
> Jessie (lucidnancyboy/Jessie Lucid): Thanks to the mods! You guys rock! It has been such a blessing to work with drjezdzany for our second RBB (the 2017 bang was the beginning of our beautiful friendship/creative partnership). Her artwork is always stunning and inspirational, and this naughty little story is my thank you gift for her selfless beta work, constant cheerleading, ‘good morning’ texts, infinite support, and friendship (love you, girl!). Also, it was her idea for me to write Winteriron porn (in case you wanna thank her, lol). Please check out her gorgeous Stucky art here:  
> [Tumblr](drjezdzanyart.tumblr.com)  
> [Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/drjezdzany/?hl=en)
> 
> Lorien (drjezdzany): I want to thank the mods for putting so much work into making this reverse big bang such a great experience again this year. We are so grateful for you! But I'm especially happy that I get to work with my partner in crime, lucidnancyboy, again. (And look at us, we're not even getting the #meanstreak out this time. We are so nice to everyone. XD) I love how we inspire each other to be creative: drawing and writing and just being there when stuck in writers/art block. Thank you so much too! 
> 
> Enjoy... :)

 

“You want me to do what?”

Now, Tony had been asked to do a lot of weird things in his life: to build a suit for a Saudi Prince’s favorite falcon, to donate his sperm to a start-up ‘Genius Sperm Bank’ (rumor had it that Elon Musk had been the only taker), and to join a crackpot team of superpowered idiots called the ‘Avengers’ (horrible name, too aggressive right off the bat), but _this_ request took the proverbial cake.

The Russian Master Assassin-turned African Nutty Professor scratched at his scruffy beard and kicked the dirt floor in his _beyond_ -humble abode. “I’m asking if you’ll help me figure out if I can be with Steve,” Bucky ‘clarified’, sounding almost...shy? “Safely, I mean. I’d like you to see if I’m safe...”

Tony blinked. Then he blinked again. It wasn’t every day that a frenemie’s boo boo from days of yore asked him to act as his Dom…

Almost three weeks had passed since Tony had _secretly_ flown to Wakanda to help Shuri fine tune Bucky’s brand new shoulder joint/arm combo. Apparently, after Girl Wonder had used her panther magic to fix-up Bucky Barnes’ brain, he’d had a singular request about the arm: he wanted it to be removable, which Tony understood completely. Who wants to rely on point blank blasts from a repulsor beam to take the thing off, let alone three major surgeries to put it back on?

Tony didn’t feel _guilty_ per se…

He looked at Bucky, all one-armed and friendly…

Fine. He felt guilty. And having a box of Krispy Kremes delivered across the Atlantic just wasn’t gonna cut it in the apology department. So when FRIDAY had patched through a _top_ _secret_ call from a mysterious Princess about a month ago, asking if Tony would _hypothetically_ be interested in helping her build a _hypothetical_ arm for a top secret benefactor, Tony (and his guilty conscience) had risen to the occasion.

As it turned out, Shuri was annoyingly competent and barely needed his help, making her motivations shady as hell. In other words, Princess Peach just wanted everybody to get along.

And Bucky… Well, he wasn’t at all what Tony had expected...

He’d been quiet at first, mumbling ‘I’m sorry’ under his breath at least 75 times on opening day in the panther workshop (more like three, but dramatic exaggeration keeps the juices flowing), then ‘Shuri shouldn’t have called you’ about 953 times on day two, followed by a never ending loop of ‘I don’t deserve your sympathy’, ‘I don’t deserve your time’, and ‘I don’t deserve a trillion dollar arm’ on day three. The Murderer had been spot on with all of those sentiments, but still, there’d been something cathartic about taking the Winter Soldier apart, knowing that Tony was putting someone else back together.

Jesus, that was way too deep, and Tony needed a drink (out of a real glass, not a hollowed out gourd). _And_ Bucky was still looking at him with his stupid blue eyes. He was just like Ted Bundy...

“Tony…”

“Stop. I’m thinking about handsome serial killers,” he interrupted. “So tell your goats to shut their pie holes.”

“They’re _goats_. Being loud is what they do.”

“Which is why you should’ve been a fish farmer. Nobody ever lost sleep because their tilapia were wilding out…”

Bucky scrunched up his face, which gave Tony a second to _really_ think.

Somewhere around day eight (also known as Grandpa Barnes’ 99th birthday), Tony’d been tweaking the joint’s neural connections and eating chocolate cake (yes, at the same time) when he’d made an excellent joke about Bucky fighting with his birthday boner and beating it single handedly. The birthday boy had snorted so hard that his honeydew bubble tea (or whatever) had exploded out of his nose, and... _poof!_ ...they’d become _...friends?_

Tony snickered. Even a couple weeks into their peace treaty, ‘friends’ still didn’t exactly roll off the tongue (or the brain, in this case). But it was true. Tony was friends with Old MacDonald and his herd of oddly bony cows.

But that still didn’t explain Bucky’s request. Not even a little bit.

Putting his hand on Bucky’s shoulder, Tony squeezed the knot that was holding up his surprisingly attractive Golden Girls sarong. “Buckmeister, I know Shuri’s been bragging about stuffing all the marbles back into your jar, but, real talk, it seems like you might’ve already misplaced a few shiny new brain cells. Brains aren’t like car keys, Buckaroo. You can’t just go around losing your cerebral cortex between the couch cushions and asking people...who’ve only recently learned to appreciate your _slightly_ captivating personality...to tie you up!”

Bucky chuckled, which, Tony had to admit, was a really nice look on the guy. “If you take a look around, I think you’ll discover that I don’t have a couch...or a car.”

One-armed Bucky blinked at Tony real slow, gesturing towards his ‘furniture’ with the hand that Tony _hadn’t_ blown off. It was hard not to laugh.

Yesterday, when Tony’d been invited to venture out of the city for whatever this was, Bucky had called this place his ‘house’, neglecting to mention that he lived in a glorified survival shelter made out of straw, sticks, and mud. He’d also neglected to mention that his ‘house’ was surrounded by bugs, pigs, bugs, obnoxious goats, mud, dirt, fertile Wakandan soil, and _more_ bugs. As a courtesy, Tony took another look around the eight foot circle, and sure enough, no couch. Bucky’s vast inventory of furniture included a straw mat for sleeping, a straw mat for sitting (maybe), a straw basket to stash his straw porn (corn-husk dolls with dicks?), and a fuck-ton of chickens peeking in the ‘door’ (orange curtain) that probably kept him company while he jerked off with his straw-infused KY Jelly. Nicely put, it was ‘rustic’. Not so nicely put, it was the African version of _Alaskan Bush People._

“Have you always had such a dry sense of humor?” Tony asked, swatting at the Stone Age lantern that was hanging from the ‘ceiling’. “Or did you pick that up from grumpy Captain America?”

Plopping his hand on Tony’s, Bucky got extra cozy on top of Bea Arthur’s knot as he whispered, “Steve loves you, Tony. If he didn’t, he wouldn’t take the time to be such a dick.”

Tony groaned, because Steve was _such_ an asshole. Only a total prick would let Tony freeze his ass off in Siberia for 24 hours before he sent Maria Hill to retrieve him like a lost toddler. Only a mean, mean man would turn his back and walk away after Tony had straight up tried to murder his long lost boyfriend. And only a horrible person with no soul would FedEx Tony a passive-aggressive apology letter and a crappy flip-phone ‘in case of emergency’...

 _“Ugh,_ feelings,” Tony grumbled, taking another step backwards. “Let’s go back to talking about tying you up. Jesus.”

“I’d never ask you to tie me up if there weren’t _feelings,_ Tony,” Bucky said quietly, putting his Ted Bundy eyes to work as he let his dirty hair fall into his face. “And this is about _so_ much more than silk scarves and submission. I trust you.”

“And you don’t trust _Steve?”_

“Don’t be stupid. I don’t trust _myself._ And I don’t want the first time that Steve and I touch each other in over 74 goddamn years to turn into Berlin all over again. I tried to kill him with a fucking _helicopter,_ Tony, and I just need to make sure that I’m...” He drifted off, looking genuinely upset, and Tony was surprised by how he instinctively wanted to slide his hand into Bucky’s messy hair, gripping the strands just hard enough to ground him. “I just…I don’t want to hurt him.”

God, these two. Now that Tony’d unwittingly accepted an invitation into Rogers’ boo’s straw dungeon, the entire plot of _Civil War_ made a hell of a lot more sense.

“But you’re willing to hurt _me.”_ It wasn’t a question. Tony was just stating the obvious.

“No. I don’t want to hurt _anyone._ Least of all the people I care about.” Bucky nibbled on his bottom lip in the most distracting way before adding, “Having your hands digging around inside my torso for the past few weeks has made me realize that you’re someone I can trust. And I know damn well that you could set up the proper safeguards. Like having one of your suits standing by, ready to shoot off my _other_ arm if things get out of control.”

That wasn’t funny, but Tony found himself saying, “Oh my god, Bucky, Girl Wonder’s charging down the home stretch to finish the build on the new one, so I think it’s time to let that _disarming_ incident go,” which was _hilarious._

Ignoring Tony’s excellent play on words (lame), Bucky stepped into Tony’s personal bubble and went right for the emotional jugular. “And the fact that you’re here at all shows that you _really_ care about Steve...”

“I’m mad at Steve!”

“Which is how I know you care!”

It was a standoff. Big guy in a sarong versus medium-sized guy in Gucci loafers. A chicken strutted through the doorway, standing between them like a poultry referee, and Grizzly Adams didn’t even blink an eye.

Puffing out his chest, Tony said, “I’m not gay.”

Bucky quirked up an eyebrow. “I saw you checking out my ass the other day.”

That was true. One of the most dangerous men on the planet had been laying face down on the table while Tony tinkered with the magnets, wearing nothing but a pair of navy blue sweatpants that had been so tight that the line of his Calvin Klein’s had been _clearly_ visible, and, yeah, Tony had looked… In fact, he’d looked for two hours _straight._

In an uncontested decision, the chicken in the black and white stripes gave the point to the asshole in the sarong.

Fun fact: Tony hadn’t been with a man since that time in the Colorado Desert when one half of The Chemical Brothers had slipped him some high quality MDMA and he’d found himself balls deep in a surprisingly flexible male celebrity who shall not be named (Tony was a gentleman about random Coachella sex with people whose names rhymed with Cared Keto). But he was _way_ off topic. Up until 20 minutes ago, Tony had only _suspected_ that Rogers and Barnes were both playing for the rainbow team, but now that he had confirmation…

Tony sucked in a deep breath, which was probably a mistake. Seriously, how the hell could a goat farmer smell so good?

Shoving his hands into his pockets like a kindergartener who was trying to stop himself from grabbing a warm chocolate chip cookie, Tony tried to forget all about pheromones…

Except the cookie was slowly blinking at him with his gorgeous eyelashes…

Shit.

Deflect. Deflect. Deflect.

Reclaiming his personal bubble (barely), Tony said, “I’ve got a very vanilla ‘five-pumps and I’m done’ sex life, thank you very much, Sergeant Barnes. So whoever gave you the impression that I know _anything_ about this tomfoolery you’re calling BDSM is way off track…”

“Natalia told me,” Bucky interrupted with a chuckle. “She says you’re a skilled Dom: gentle, but surprisingly powerful for such a short man.”

That very offensive (but _very true)_ statement was followed up with more sexy, sloth-like blinking, convincing Tony that the Winter Soldier’s superpowers went beyond ‘brood, shoot, stab, brood’ and into the magical realm where his number one offensive maneuver was peering into his victims’ souls. If the Psychic Soldier was checking out Tony’s detour on the way to T’Challa’s Wakandan Wonderland, Tony was gonna have a hell of a time explaining that leather bunny mask.

“Amsterdam, _huh?”_ Bucky asked, smacking his lips together like he was chewing a big wad of gum. “You’ve gotta tell me about that leather bunny mask.”

Dammit.

“Doesn’t _anyone_ in this dysfunctional club know how to stop spying? Seriously, take a vacation: go to Fiji, scale Mount Fuji, hunt for magical fungi in the forest...” Tony pretended to be mad (because that was how a man who’d been caught red-handed was supposed to act), but the naughty, naughty memories of the girl with the curly blonde hair and the killer legs hopping around in that bunny mask overrode Tony’s prickly reaction to being outed. The mask was in his suitcase... The soft leather straps would adjust to fit Bucky...

Dammit!

Looking amused as hell, Bucky went right ahead and plopped his sarong-wearing ass down on his 400-straw-count sheet without permission, and…

Double dammit!

Tony glanced at Bucky, sitting there all rugged and pretty, then took a long look at his own dick. He had a chub that was well on its way out of the ‘chub’ category. His brain had made one autonomous decision to think ‘without permission’ and... _bam!_...it was 2009 and ‘Tared Potato’ all over again.  

“Even though he’s an asshole,” Tony said, laying down the law, “I’m not doing anything behind Steve’s back.”

Bucky shook his head like Tony was an idiot. “He knows I’m asking you.”

“How? You promised not to tell him I was in Wakanda!”

“I told Steve you were in Wakanda the day you showed up.”

Now it was Tony’s turn to shake his head, because the goat farmer/assassin/supermodel was snickering under his breath like spilling the beans about Tony breaking the Accords was comedy gold.

“Great, that’s fucking great…”

“But he already knew,” Bucky interrupted, tugging his sarong over his obnoxiously muscular thighs. “Nothing gets by Natalia, and I’m pretty sure Shuri snitched too. She _loves_ getting people in trouble. If Steve weren’t in hiding, she probably would’ve tweeted his reaction.”

“Which was?”

“He thinks it’s nice that you finally got your head out of your ass.”

“Me!?” Tony shouted loud enough to scare the shit out of the chicken (not really, but a literal example of ‘chicken shit’ would’ve been funny). “Your _boyfriend’s_ the one with his entire head stuck in his rectum. In fact, it’s shoved so far up there that I’m not sure how he hears you whispering holographic sweet nothings into his asshole at bedtime...”

Rolling his eyes, Bucky muttered, “Steve isn’t my boyfriend,” acting all laissez faire, like it wasn’t a big deal. Then he went back to scratching his beard.

Tony had a fleeting thought about fleas.

Then another about it _definitely_ being a big deal that Bucky’d just _pretended_ it was ‘no big deal’ that he and Steve were ‘undefined’.

Then another about giving Bucky an old-fashioned shave.

Then his dick jumped in his pants, because Tony had never even _thought_ about shaving another man before. He’d shaved Pepper’s legs a few times...and once, on a dare at a frat party, he’d shaved a freshman’s ass crack before he’d spread peanut butter…

Bucky poked his ankle, effectively ending Tony’s trip down peanut butter and jelly lane with a firm, “Tony…”

“What? You _literally_ just told me that Steve was your boyfriend, life partner, bosom buddy, sensitive fuck buddy _…whatever..._ half an hour ago! So forgive me if I need a minute to think about ass sandwiches.”

 _“No...”_ Bucky drawled, ignoring the peanut butter in the freshman’s butthole. “I told you that Steve and I _used_ to be lovers, life partners...and sensitive bosom buddies who fucked. Key word: _used_ to. And I want to find that with him again, Tony...I do...but right now we’re still figuring things out...seeing where we stand.” Inexplicably, Bucky poked Tony’s ankle again, ducking his head as he whispered, “That’s one of the reasons I’m asking for your help.”

Wow.

Pointing at the smaller straw mat, Tony said, “Can you pass me the couch? I need to sit down next to this chicken for a minute.”

Truthfully, Tony needed _more_ than a minute without the verbal sparring and shocking revelations to think, because what Steve’s better half was requesting was _very_ serious, requiring three hours (minimum) of detailed dos and _definitely_ don’ts. Sitting his ass down, Tony ditched his loafers and his impractical dress socks. If this conversation was gonna happen, it had to be man to man, foot to foot, and it had to take place on equal ground. Tony was tempted to ask for a red sarong so their legs would be equally on display…

Shooing the chicken (who didn’t leave), Tony opened the conversation with a classic ice breaker. “Steve always gave me the impression that he was a standard ‘missionary, doggy-style, missionary, doggy-style’ rotation kind of guy.”

Bucky snorted. “Um, no. Lemme put it this way: the first time that scrawny punk talked me into messin’ around, he tied my hands behind my back with my suspenders, sucked my dick, then asked if he could wash my hair.”

“Did he do a good job?”

“Sucking my dick?” Bucky laughed, then he blushed, then he chuckled (must be a good memory). “Let’s just say he got better in time.”

Even though Bucky was smiling at him, Tony felt kinda intrusive knowing that recollections of Steve Rogers deep throating Bucky’s pocket snake during the war of 1812 were afoot.

Suddenly the tips of Bucky’s toes were _almost_ touching Tony’s calves, which made it considerably weirder when he wistfully said, “But the second that little shit climbed into the bathtub, straddling me with those skinny legs as he massaged Ivory soap into my hair, I was a goner.”

Which begged the question, “And you haven’t been with Steve since…”

“He kissed me like a nun before I went back under, but otherwise, not since 1944.”

“Wow. That’s…” Tony cut himself off, realizing that Bucky must have the bluest balls in human history...unless Hydra…

Tony stared at the chicken. He couldn’t go there. _Wouldn’t_ go there. Bucky was asking for a lil’ D/s test run, not a full psychoanalysis of his horror-show past. Tony knew how to properly tie a knot around a wrist, but he sure as hell wasn’t qualified to really _care…_

Pepper had made that perfectly clear.

“Why do you let chickens in your house? It’s really unsanitary…”

“Tony, if I’m making you uncomfortable, just say no.”

“I’m not uncomfortable.”

Scrunching up his forehead, Bucky said, “You _look_ uncomfortable,” in a tone that was hovering in the grey area between ‘extreme smartass’ and ‘genuinely concerned’.

“That’s because you neglected to tell me to wear a potato sack to your hut!” The chicken started flapping its stupid chicken wings (sadly, without BBQ sauce). “ _And_ you forgot to mention that I needed to bring a respirator to protect myself from the bird flu! Seriously, I’m about to introduce this bird to Colonel Sanders!” Tony might be shouting about chickens, but his heart rate was skyrocketing for an entirely different reason.

But Bucky didn’t say a thing. No comeback. No additional facial expressions. No reaction to Tony’s chicken death threat. He just sat there on his little mat in his comfy sarong, petting his original recipe chicken with five out of five fingers…

It was a surprisingly effective tactic.

“1944, _huh?”_ Tony asked, the connotations of that date hitting a lot harder than expected.

Bucky simply nodded, which almost made it worse.

“And you’re sure you want _me_ to fire up your engines before Steve does? All parties have to be on board here. I mean, I know it was a _blast_ the last time the three of us got together for a friendly game of Attempted Murder, but I don’t think my blood pressure can take another shield to my arc reactor.”

 _“Tony…”_ There was a brand new expression on Bucky’s face. Swear to god, he almost looked _soft._ “Steve and I have talked about this for _hours,”_ he said _softly. “_ He thinks I’m being too careful, but we all know that if I get triggered, the idiot would just take whatever I throw at him. Steve’s too stubborn to admit it, but the fact that he kissed me like I was made of wood says he’s scared shitless to even try. Long story short: Steve gets it.”

Blowing out a very, very, _very_ long breath, Tony did something that would go down in the history books as either incredibly smart or incredibly stupid...

“Well, I’m not gonna suck your dick, Mr. Green Jeans, but your Tarzan-like mane is in dire need of decontamination. Maybe that’s a good place for us to start?”

***

 

Tony’d been with a _lot_ of people. It was a matter of public record. Casual sex. Anonymous sex. Caligula sex. Experimental sex. Hot tub sex. _Hot Tub Time Machine_ Sex. Mile High Club sex. Drunk sex. ‘I’m dying of palladium poisoning’ Coachella sex with Zared Tomato. Monogamous, wonderful sex with the woman he’d planned on marrying (who he resolutely _wasn’t_ thinking about right now). And once or twice, Tony’d generously acted as a Dom for a friend or two (or three) in need. But Tony could slap his hand on a Baptist Bible without fear of Heavenly electrocution and declare that none of those sexual situations had made him feel as emotionally conflicted as he did right now.

Tony was lighting a second candle in the darkened bathroom, the soft glow making the reality of what was about to happen all the more real. He took a minute to smell the burning wood of the match, breathing it in and finding his center before he made another move. Bucky was watching, and Tony couldn’t screw this up.

As luck would have it, the Buckmeister had turned out to be a BDSM Boy Scout: always prepared with Thin Mints, bear spray, and a cute little list (in surprisingly neat handwriting) of the adventurous things he wanted to try on their first outing to the D/s national forest. Scoutmaster Bucky had also provided confirmation that the Dangerous Fugitive had surfaced on Skype to say that he was hunky dory with _two_ mechanics working on the same very special, one-of-a-kind classic car, literally showing Tony a screenshot of Steve giving two thumbs up with an expression that somehow said, ‘I will destroy you if you damage a single hair on Bucky’s perfect head’ and ‘thank you’ with the same quirked eyebrow.

Side note: The beard really added to Steve’s Charles Bronson mystique, but it also made him look like he was hiding out in a quaint Colorado ski town, pulling sick snowboard tricks with his buddies and getting blazed all day. Maybe that‘s why Captain America (the _Easy Rider_ version) was suddenly so open-minded about Tony touching his Precious? Peace, love, Peter Fonda, and marijuana!

Anyway, Tony and Bucky had gone through the list backwards and forwards until the cows had come home (literally), and the sweetness of the contents had surprised Tony to say the least. All of Tony’s preconceived notions about Bucky wanting (or needing) heavy bondage, deprivation, whips, knives, and machine guns had been thrown out the window, each request solidifying Tony’s realization that the Winter Soldier had absolutely nothing to do with Bucky Barnes.

It made his heart hurt. Here was a man who’d been through hell, trusting _Tony,_ of all people, to help him discover if there was anything left of the man he used to be...

Damn, Steve Rogers was a sneaky bastard.

Chewing on the inside of his cheek, Tony took his time striking another match, squatting down in his white pajama pants/grey tank top combo (causal, neutral, _intentional)_ and lighting one of the candles he’d placed in front of the glass block wall in T’challa’s five-star palace. Tony didn’t look back over his shoulder (even though he wanted to), and that simple act of self-control made his stomach do a particularly impressive flip-flop. Blowing out the match, Tony carefully slid down to the next candle, taking his time lighting the tiny flame as he mentally reviewed the first part of Bucky’s list:

  1. Start slow and simple: waiting, positioning, praise.
  2. I’m worried how I’ll react to my hair being touched. It used to put me under really fast, but I got anxious when Shuri pulled it back for me one day. Maybe we can try brushing or washing?
  3. I don’t even know if I can go under anymore (I’m nervous I’ll get triggered if I do), and Steve’s the only one I’ve ever done this with...so…  I guess just make sure you’re ready to electrocute me or something if I lose my shit.
  4. If I don’t freak the fuck out, maybe we can work up to kneeling, posing, light bondage...



On paper it had seemed pretty basic: things that Tony had lovingly done a million times with Pepper (who he _still_ wasn’t thinking about) and not so lovingly with scores of horny women who’d read ‘Fifty Shades of Grey’ too many times. Easy peasy. Tony could do this shit in his sleep. _Blah, blah, blah._

But now that the man Tony’d tried to kill less than a year ago (and vice versa) was patiently standing behind him, wearing nothing but a surprisingly fashionable pair of black Calvin Klein underwear, Tony was backpedaling on the mental Christian Grey comparisons.

Their rustic pow-wow had ended with a very responsible plan to wait two days, giving both of them time to let the idea settle, get into the right headspace, and for Tony to recruit Shuri to help him acquire a shocking amount of unscented candles, white Egyptian star clusters that he’d arranged in traditional clay vases, and a handmade bar of honey oat soap (among other things) for their first adventure. It was weird how much Tony had enjoyed his trip to Wakanda’s version of Bath and Body Works, smelling at least 5,000 different kinds of shampoos, soaps, conditioners, and clay and charcoal scrubs. There’d been so many choices: sage, turmeric, cinnamon oil, hibiscus, avocado, thyme, _banana_ … He’d even ventured over to check out the butters and oils, which was extra, extra, _extra_ weird considering that he’d done it with Bucky Barnes in mind…

FYI: He’d bought the cardamon sesame shea body butter…

...and the frankincense essential oil…

...and the eucalyptus massage oil…

You know, just in case Bucky needed Tony to ‘restore peace and harmony to his spirit’.   

Striking another match, Tony ran the labels’ claims through his head: increases micro-circulation to the skin, brings shine and luster to hair, rejuvenates joints, relaxes muscles, clears sinuses, and his personal favorite…‘our Wakandan Frankincense has a sensuous, heady aroma, producing a slightly intoxicating effect while clearing the mind’. Ridiculous? Yes. But If Pepper had gotten anything through Tony’s thick skull, it was that rubbing slippery stuff into a submissive’s skin was pleasurable for both sides. She’d also taught him how to pick out things that smelled _really_ good.

Excluding the three candles that he’d placed at Bucky’s feet, Tony had run out of things to light. Walking over to the sink, Tony set the box of matches on the counter next to one of the flowers vases, purposely keeping his back towards Bucky and avoiding eye contact in the mirror.

It was time to make him wait...

20 minutes had already passed since Bucky, in true Boy Scout fashion, had knocked on the door, looking like he’d been cooking Bush’s baked beans on a tin can stove in the heart of Michigan’s Upper Peninsula. His hair was even dirtier than it had been the other night (if that was possible) and he’d tied it up into some sort of one-handed top knot that was crooked in an 80’s Madonna kind of way. Fun fact: the Lucky Star was _also_ from Michigan, but Tony highly doubted that she’d enjoyed hanging out with the wolverines like Bucky.

But he digressed…

Before Bucky’d stripped down to his underwear, his outfit had looked like he’d been on the losing end of a fight with the Wolverine who was trying to bring back the 70s with mutton chops and yellow spandex. He’d obviously ripped the sleeves off his button-up shirt with his teeth, his cargo pants (yes, the pockets had been filled with fishing lures and toads) had been hanging ridiculously low on his hips because Wolverine had slashed his belt, and, drumroll please, he’d been barefoot. Who needed shoes in the middle of Africa? _Not_ Bucky Barnes.

But none of those Sasquatch-like qualities had captured Tony’s attention like the nervous, hesitant look on Bucky’s face.

Tony understood. He was nervous too.

Slowly turning his head so Bucky would be able to see his profile, Tony lit another match and held it up in front of his face. Not because he was going to light another candle, but because he wanted Bucky to watch him slowly bending the flame with his breath before the fire flickered out completely. The pause. The exhale. The smoke rising towards the ceiling. The _wonderful wait._ It was crazy, but in his lifetime of Penthouse Forum experiences, Tony could honestly say that he’d never felt a submissive’s presence as much as he felt the weight of Bucky Barnes.

There were three more candles to light, lined up just in front of the spot where he’d asked Bucky to stand, but Tony needed another minute to get his shit together before he turned around the rest of the way. It wasn’t the fear that he couldn’t do this. He was practically a _professional._ In fact, post-hop, bunny girl had kindly informed Tony that he’d been the best Dom she’d worked with all year...and she _was_ a professional. He also wasn’t afraid of what Bucky might do if he got triggered or that Captain Cheech would run out of weed, have second thoughts, freak out in a jealous rage and kill Tony with a snowboard. The reason his blood pressure was creeping up, up, up was because of how _much_ he wanted to do this.

Real talk: It was all he’d been thinking about since he’d left Bucky’s zoo and gotten lost on the way back to the city...

  * Avoiding Mufasa and Simba as he’d stumbled through _Lion King_ territory in the dark? Tony’d been imagining Bucky on his knees, goosebumps rising as Tony dragged a feather across his collar bones...
  * Losing his Gucci loafer in a muddy ditch? Tony’d been thinking about the black silk ties at the bottom of his suitcase and how they’d look wrapped around Bucky’s brand new arm once they got him all hooked up (yeah, that was a kink he’d never expected).
  * In a very cold shower washing off goat shit, chicken shit, and panther shit (hopefully not _Black Panther_ shit)? Tony’d been thinking about the best kind of brush to use on Bucky’s knotted hair.



Pulling out another match, Tony took a deep breath and slowly turned around.

Seeing the one and only Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes like this was overwhelming to say the least. Maybe it was because Tony was so used to seeing him dressed like Edward Scissorhands, the world’s most attractive bum, a dirty farmer, or lying on a medical table with holograms, wires, and nanotech crawling all over him? But having the chance to see the skin on his long legs, learning how his hip bones curved into the muscles of his twelve-pack abs (really?), and getting an up-close and _very_ personal view of Bucky’s naked chest transitioning into the joint that Tony’d been working on for the past three weeks was making him feel all sorts of _feelings,_ because Bucky seemed _vulnerable._

How could this man, who, for argument’s sake, Tony had enthusiastically tried to kill with rockets, bombs, nuclear silo doors, kicks to the head, and point blank blasts with a repulsor beam, trust him like this?

Tony told himself that he was just lighting the last three candles, but kneeling at Bucky’s feet, he had a hard time not calling bullshit on himself. When the glow of each little flame captured the curves of Bucky’s muscles and the power of every vein, illuminating the strength behind the story of each scar, Tony fought the urge to kiss his feet.

But he was _almost_ a professional, and professionals didn’t drool all over their submissive’s feet when they’d only agreed to try a few simple commands and to wash Peppermint Patty’s dust cloud of a hairstyle.

Standing up slowly, Tony looked right into Bucky’s eyes, meaning every word when he said, “You look so beautiful standing here so perfect and still, just like I asked. What’s your color, Bucky?”  

Blinking a few times, Bucky didn’t move a millimeter when he whispered, “Green.”

“And you’re still comfortable with everything we discussed?”

“Yeah.”

Tony didn’t like that answer. But he took in Bucky’s pose, his expression, and made the executive decision to move forward. Neither of them were expecting smooth sailing, so Tony was willing to let that one slip for the time being.

Pausing a beat, he looked Bucky over from head to toe, double checking for signs that ‘yeah’, in reality, had meant ‘no fucking way’. Thankfully, there was only a slight twitch in the tips of his fingers. Nothing more.

“I’m going to take you through this nice and slow, Bucky. No timeline, no goals…” Tony lowered his voice, watching those fingers...waiting…

It took a few seconds, but all five finally relaxed, giving Tony the confidence to keep going. “I could look at you like this for hours...so handsome...so strong...but I’d like you to run the water now. I’ve left a bottle of lavender bubble bath on the edge of the tub. Add as many bubbles as you’d like.”

The bathtub was straight out of the 19th century: porcelain with claw feet and rounded ends, with an antique brass faucet centered on one of the long sides. Everything else in Tony’s suite was modern and sleek, so what it was doing here was a real mystery, but it couldn’t have been more perfect. It was set almost in the middle of the room, meaning Tony could easily walk around the entire thing. Good for keeping a careful eye on Bucky and _excellent_ for ‘discreetly’ placing the four Iron Man suits, which FRIDAY had sent across the pond for this special occasion, in sentinel mode on all sides.

In an attempt to downplay the _Fear Factor,_ Tony had put in a special request for four _really_ big potted plants to ‘hide’ the suits earlier that morning (the look on the delivery guys’ faces when they’d wheeled them in had been absolutely _priceless)._ And there they stood: north, south, east, and west, waiting for Tony to shout out his safe word (Treebeard) if shit got wild, at which point the ‘ficus trees’ would knock Bucky down with a serious dose of Ketamine.

God, he hoped that didn’t happen...

Choosing to forgo the nanosuit in favor of angelic cotton pants and a flimsy tank top could prove to be a catastrophic decision, but this kind of thing had to be built on trust, and the non-lethal (but very effective) ficus trees were good enough for a Code Red.

Hopefully...

The first order had been simple, designed to give Bucky some leeway… Hot or warm? Lots of bubbles or none at all? But Bucky didn’t move: his feet stayed planted, his knees locked, and his eyes closed as he blew out several shaky breaths...

Tony’s hands were on Bucky’s waist in an instant, steadying him, holding him gently as he processed, because Tony had no doubt that’s what Bucky was doing. Tony’d been there. After destroying the most important relationship in his life with a Sokovian asteroid and a heaping dose of asshole, he’d needed a big ol’ cry before he’d stepped back into the game. And he’d only waited a few _months,_ not three quarters of a century!

“Hey, you’re okay. I’ve got you,” Tony murmured with a shocking level of sweetness. “You don’t have to worry, Bucky. I know what I’m doing.”

 _Technically_ that was true. But the second he’d made contact with Bucky’s skin, there was a definite moment of ‘holy shit, he’s so beautiful and soft and warm, and I just wanna hug him and kiss him and love him’ that screamed that Tony _did not,_ in any way, shape, or form know what the hell he was doing.

When Bucky’s breath got caught in the top of his chest, Tony tried an old trick that Pepper had always used to get him through his panic attacks. Moving his hands across Bucky’s torso, Tony carefully guided his breath where it should go.

“Pull the air all the way into your stomach, Bucky.”

It took a second, but the muscles started stretching beneath Tony’s fingers, expanding little by little.

“Good,” Tony whispered, running his hands around Bucky’s waist and applying gentle pressure just above the kidneys. “Now, let the air move into your back, all the way up to here.”

When Bucky inhaled, Tony matched his motion. Synchronizing...just like he used to do with Pepper…

Never breaking contact, Tony brought his palms back around and rested them just below Bucky’s collar bones...seven fingers touching skin, three resting on newly forged metal. “Now, follow my hands to let it out, okay?” he said quietly, calmly, _firmly._ “Nice and slow.” Then, with a weighted touch, Tony slid his palms over Bucky’s pecs, getting lost in the fuzzy chest hair for a second before he remembered that the exchange of oxygen was the goal here. “Let it all go…” Tony followed the inner edge of Bucky’s ribcage with his thumbs. “Right here, let everything relax…” Tony memorized the hills and valleys of each abdominal muscle as they moved beneath his fingers. “Feel the quiet…” Tony framed Bucky’s belly button as the last of the air was released, and he knew it was working…

That _they_ were working.

After a few more guided breaths, Tony whispered, “What’s your color?”

Opening his eyes, Bucky had a little hiccup in his voice when he answered, “It’s green. Thank you...for knowing...for understanding.”

Tony gave him a little smile, feeling more comfortable as he dove back in for some more chest hair appreciation. “Do you want to continue?”

Never in his life had Tony pushed a submissive past what they’d wanted or what they’d _needed._ Not once. But still, there was a little part of him was chanting ‘please say yes, please say yes, please say yes’.

Bucky nodded, slumping his shoulders forward and leaning into Tony’s follicularly focused touch. And that’s when Tony saw the first notes of _real_ submission: the way Bucky’s jaw visibly relaxed...the way he swayed a little on his feet...how his breathing slowed when Tony rubbed harder. It was a huge relief _...huge..._ because it proved that Bucky and Steve weren’t just two horny guys who _hadn’t_ read ‘Fifty Shades of Grey’ but still only possessed Christian Grey’s shitty understanding of Dom/sub dynamics.

Pointedly making the decision to kiss Bucky’s temple, Tony moved them forward, giving the order for the second time. “You’re doing so good _...so_ good. I’d like you to run the bath now. Can you do that for me?”

There was a slight nuzzle against Tony’s neck before Bucky whispered, “Yes.”

Time to give that next little push. Brushing his lips over the shell of Bucky’s ear, Tony murmured, “‘Yes’ what, Bucky?”

And good lord, Bucky settled even further into Tony’s shoulder, effectively trapping Tony’s hands in chest hair heaven before he gave the perfect, crystal clear answer...

“Yes, _Tony.”_

Which, _damn._ Tony should’ve worn a pair of really tight jeans, like 70’s Mick Jagger tight, because his dick was starting to be a ‘slightly bigger than average’ problem.

Seriously, Tony hadn’t gotten hot and bothered by a man in a _very_ long time...unless you counted that time he’d accidentally walked in on Steve doing deadlifts in shockingly short short shorts with no shirt...but that was just… Never mind. That was making the situation in Tony’s _very_ loose pajama pants even worse.

Taking a second to lightly touch Bucky’s waist, Tony said, “Perfect. Now, please run the water and make sure it’s not too hot.”

He was talking to Bucky about the temperature, but he was also talking to his erection.  

Turning away, Tony attempted to conceal his boner as he headed towards the bedroom to tame his dick with denim. This was supposed to be about _Bucky,_ _not_ about Mr. Suddenly Interested peeking his overeager head out the top of Tony’s elastic waistband.

Halfway into pulling up a pair of black jeans, Tony heard the water turn on. That in itself was enough to make him smile, but then he caught a whiff the lavender scent drifting through the open doorway, and his entire face crossed the line into unfamiliar territory.

Even without looking in a mirror, he knew he looked happy.

Not that he’d ever admit it.

Jeans on, dick harnessed, Tony stepped back into the bathroom and found Bucky kneeling at the side of the tub, stirring up _way_ too many bubbles with his arm. It was almost funny. No, scratch that. It was hilarious...and cute...and, oh god, Tony had just thought that the Winter Soldier was cute!

His mother must be rolling in her grave…

Tony blinked. Then he blinked again. He was _almost_ a professional, and falling out of this scene was _not_ an option. Thinking of Pepper/but not thinking of Pepper, Tony imagined her hands guiding _his_ breath for a minute, letting his thoughts settle as he shoved the horrors of the past back to where they belonged.

Maria Stark would have liked this Bucky Barnes...just like Howard had liked Sergeant Barnes. She would’ve told Tony that Bucky was a good influence… That he was a good man…

Watching Bucky pour almost half of the bottle into the water, Tony understood Steve a little more and hated him a little less. The fact was, Tony would’ve fought that hard for Pepper… He’d _still_ fight that hard for Pepper...

The bubbles were rising so high that they were in danger of spilling over, but Tony didn’t care. He was lost in the movement of Bucky’s muscles as he ran his hand back and forth. He definitely wasn’t going to have any trouble checking ‘praise’ off Bucky’s list, that was for damn sure...

“You’re beautiful,” Tony whispered, squatting down behind him. “I love the way the little divots in your back frame your spine.” Placing his palms flat over the indentations, he applied gentle pressure.

And that’s when it shifted. Maybe it was the contact? Skin touching skin…the warmth of Bucky’s flesh...the scent of lavender washing away the last remnants of their machines.

No longer playing a part of any kind, Tony gave him a much more specific order. “I’d like you to climb in now. _Slowly,_ so I can watch every inch of your body disappear into the water.”

Immediately rising to his feet, the muscles in Bucky’s back rippled right before Tony’s eyes, and he quickly pulled his hands back before they made accidental ass contact… They hadn’t talked about that. Nope. It hadn’t even been _mentioned,_ and to be honest, Tony hadn’t expected that he’d _want_ that. But watching Bucky carefully stepping over the edge of the tub, Tony was wanting _all kinds of things_ that they hadn’t talked about, and none of them included fucking. His mind was throwing around grandiose ideas about sending elaborate bouquets to secret hideouts on Sweetest Day, sweetly spooning Bucky in The Rogue Avengers’ _stolen_ quinjet _with_ Stupid Steve snuggled up on the other side, and...other stuff.

Carefully walking around the tub, Tony turned off the faucet, mesmerized by the way Bucky was following his directions perfectly. He was sinking down slowly, letting the bubbles fold over his ass, his hips, his unbelievably broad chest...until the only things visible were his right knee, his left nipple, the majority of his mismatched shoulders, and his beautiful face.

Resting the back of his head against the curved porcelain, Bucky waited.

God he was pretty, but he was also scared...Tony could see it in his eyes...and suddenly he realized that he’d never felt so responsible for another person’s well-being in a scene. If this went wrong, it was gonna go _really_ wrong…

But what if it went right?

Bucky had been really worried about submerging his head...something about water torture that he’d glanced over like it had been an everyday thing...so they’d agreed that Tony would use a cup or a bowl to wash his hair. And if Tony had asked Shuri to take him to a local potter to pick out something special, that was another thing he was gonna keep locked in his Judy Blume diary for the time being. Kneeling behind Bucky at the end of the tub, Tony picked up the heavily textured clay bowl and made a point of dipping it into the water next to Bucky’s shoulder joint. “What’s your color, beautiful?”

Well, that had just slipped out...

“I’m feeling a little anxious,” he whispered, sinking deeper into the bubbles, “but I’m still green.”

Green for go...

Green for ‘holy shit, we’re really doing this’...

Green for the leaves on the ficus trees…

Green for the excitement building in Tony’s pants ( _*cough*_ heart)...

Lifting the bowl, Tony said, “Hold out your hand, palm side up,” as he let the tiniest bit of water spill across Bucky’s collar bones, pushing the bubbles aside. Then, satisfied with the way Bucky had exhaled, gently parting his lips, Tony set the bowl on top of Bucky’s hand like he was a waiter without a tray. “Perfect. Now I’d like you to keep it there while I untie your hair.”

Every notion of bunny masks and cheap thrills was gone the instant Tony began unraveling Bucky’s knotted hair, his fingers gently pulling out the rubber band before threading through the tangles. The entire time Tony pulled and stroked, Bucky kept the bowl perfectly balanced.

Steve Rogers was annoyingly fantastic at a lot of things...most of which drove Tony crazy...but Tony would never so much as _pretend_ to be annoyed that Steve had obviously been a _fantastic_ partner to Bucky Barnes. Tony was very good at what he did _...very good..._ but he was suddenly overcome by the desire to watch Steve looping long ropes around Bucky’s limbs, twisting and tying them in gorgeous patterns, before he slowly slid inside of him…

Tony had to clear his throat because that image was _really_ upping the stakes from his ill-advised adventure with Arid Yeto.

Carefully lifting the bowl off of Bucky’s palm, Tony murmured, “Look at that, you didn’t spill a single drop.” Then he slowly poured the water down the center of his chest. Tony studied Bucky’s face, and he looked calm...verging on serene. Tony smiled, genuinely pleased...and so damn relieved that FRIDAY hadn’t even _thought_ about shooting out a tranquilizer dart. Brushing some of the bubbles over the edge of the tub so he could see Bucky’s knees, Tony dipped the bowl and said, “Can you tell me how you’re feeling?”

“Less afraid with every second.” Bucky was focused on the waterfall pouring over his newly exposed knees when he said, “Um...I know we didn’t talk about it, but I was wondering if you’d be open to climbing in here with me when you wash my hair? I felt really solid when you were running your fingers through it…”

Tony stopped pouring and held perfectly still.

This was a ‘holy shit’ moment.

A ‘run don’t walk’ moment.

A ‘do or die’ moment, except it was more ‘do _and_ die’ because...well, Steve.

Tony closed his eyes. Breathing. Trying to stay in the moment. Focusing on the people that were _here..._

“If that’s what you’d like,” he said, holding his breath. He had to make sure Bucky understood what he was asking.

Tipping his head back all the way, Bucky waited until their eyes met to whisper, “Please.”

There were lots of roads Tony could take at this point, but without question, he knew which one was right. Placing the bowl in Bucky’s hand, Tony put gentle pressure on his shoulders until he’d sat up perfectly straight. Then, without removing his tank top or his Sticky Fingers jeans, Tony grabbed the bar of honey oat soap and carefully stepped into the bubbles behind him.  


	2. Armored Ficus Tree Effectiveness: A Symposium

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to Chapter 2 of our collaboration for the 2019 Captain America Reverse Big Bang! We will continue posting one chapter and one drawing per day through Wednesday, May 22nd. 
> 
> Please be mindful of the tags. This chapter contains a brief mention of past rape/sexual violence. If you need additional information, feel free to ask in the comment section.
> 
> Enjoy,
> 
> Jessie & Lorien :)

 

In Tony’s well-respected opinion, Bucky’s hair looked spectacularly shiny and bouncy this afternoon. Not to mention that it was an entire shade lighter without all the dirt, grease, dirt, goat dust, dirt, chicken feathers, and dirt. Tony almost felt proud.

They were about to jam the finished (hopefully) bazillion dollar arm into the socket for the first official time, and Robofarmer and Princess Peach were bouncing around the laboratory to Cardi B’s new album.

Record Review: Tony needed sound cancelling headphones, stat.

Shuri was a literal teenager, so gyrating her hips to crude rap songs that used the word ‘pussy’ to preach about female empowerment was covered under ‘teenage expectations’, but Bucky? Tony ran his hands through his hair and adjusted his glasses. Tony didn’t even wanna know how a dude who grew up in the Triassic Period (mostly) knew all the words to ‘Bodak Yellow’, let alone why he’d felt the  _ need _ to learn all the words to ‘Bodak Yellow’ in the first place. Was this Shuri’s version of memory therapy? Was singing ‘little bitch, you can’t fuck with me if you wanted to’’ a thinly veiled message to Zemo? Hydra? Ross?  _ Tony?  _

Leaning back against the counter, Tony rubbed his hand across his  _ excellent _ beard and sighed. It definitely wasn’t a message for Tony...even though Bucky was looking at him out of the corner of his eye as he sang it about twenty more times. He and Bucky were past the ‘dramatic posturing’ phase of their relationship. They’d shared a bubble bath for Christ’s sake!

Not that  _ they  _ were a ‘they’...and not that ‘they’ were in a ‘relationship’...

Tony switched to rubbing his eyes. Then, when Bucky spun Shuri in a little circle and did a hip thrust thing, Tony went back to rubbing his beard, really, really, really hard.

News at 5:00: The Winter Soldier danced.

News at 6:00: Tony Stark was turned on.

News at 7:00: Tony Stark was fucked.

And now, viewing audience, back to Bucky’s hair. The soft waves bouncing all over the place were a real tribute to Tony’s stellar selection of shea butter and his way around a wide toothed comb…

Then it hit him. The big kahuna right in the heart. If Steve and Bucky hadn’t been together since 1944, then the annoying golden retriever with the bad attitude had never touched Bucky’s hair when it was long…

All of the sudden, Cardi B revealed Tony’s innermost thoughts, rapping, “I might just chill with your boo, I might just feel on your babe,” as Tony contemplated the insanity of this arrangement. Because it  _ was _ insane. Crazy. Nuts. Zagnut. Squirrel nut. Nutella  _ nuts!  _ But Steve’s Great Depression boo was shaking his ass in a black tank top and a pair of tight black cargo pants, the top of the vibranium shoulder joint gleaming under the lights...and Tony needed a fucking drink.

Turning his back on Shuri B and Marky Mark, Tony plopped down on a rolling stool and wished for a cheeseburger from Wahlburgers. Then he picked up the arm.

It was gorgeous. Shuri knew what the hell she was doing technically  _ and _ artistically. The gold inlays were audacious, twisting in all sorts of patterns that had absolutely nothing to do with functionality and everything to do with  _ style. _ Shuri wanted Bucky to look blinged out on the battlefield, and, real deal, Tony respected that. Holding it with both hands, Tony did a couple of curls, feeling the weight of it, the heft...knowing how powerful it would become when they attached it to Bucky Barnes.

God, the things he was gonna be able to do with this thing…

Dangerous things. Deadly things.  _ Sensual _ things…

Running his fingers over the plates and feeling the texture of the mechanics, Tony couldn’t stop himself from drifting back to last night...

He’d spent over an hour washing, rinsing, and detangling Bucky’s hair, massaging his scalp as he’d applied gentle pressure to Bucky’s ribcage with his wet denim knees. Then he’d taken his time running the bar of honey oat soap over Bucky’s hairy chest, tipping Bucky’s head back against his shoulder so Tony could carefully wash his neck and beard. The quirky little things that made Bucky relax had surprised him: lightly massaging the webbing between Bucky’s fingers with the soapy water...gently stroking the lines of scar tissue that Shuri’s magic  _ hadn’t _ been able to erase...pressing his toes against Bucky’s thighs and wiggling them a little…

It hadn’t been a sexual scene, it wasn’t meant to be, but it had been one of the most  _ sensual  _ scenes that Tony’d ever experienced as a Dom.  

The song changed,  _ thank god, _ but then he realized that it sounded pretty much exactly the same as ‘Bodok Yellow’, and he lost all hope for the musical taste of the next generation. He did a few more curls with Bucky’s arm (so weird), realizing that despite his shockingly toned muscles, he was acting like a 50-year-old. Oh, wait...he  _ was  _ almost 50.

“Tony Stark,” Princess Peach hollered, “come over here and dance with us. It’s good for you.”

“Can’t. I’m too busy tweaking the magnets to do any twerking.” Tony took one last peek at Bucky’s one-armed silhouette before he spun around, dropped the arm on the table, and pretended to do...something. “Also, pick one,” he shouted. “‘Tony’ or ‘Stark’. Both is weird.”

Lining his own palm up with the metal one, Tony sighed. Seriously, what the hell was he doing? What the hell had he done  _ last night? _

Tony had closed the scene by asking Bucky to stand, draining the tub and using the bowl to pour clean, warm water over every inch of him. And yeah, symbolism,  _ blah, blah, blah. _ Dirty water, clean water, forgiveness, baptism...Tony was Mary Magdalene in a pair of soaking wet jeans...not that Bucky was Jesus...even though he looked like Jesus (the fake, white one). Whatever. It didn’t matter. What mattered was that Tony had wrapped his freshly-baptized white Jesus up with three big, fluffy towels (hips, shoulders, squeaky clean hair) and had respectfully removed his wet underwear (without peeking), replacing them with a pair of boxers. Then he’d guided Bucky to the bed so they could gobble up the fruit tray that Tony’d stashed in the fridge next to the Sauvignon blanc.

“Tony Stark, you know, as well as I do, that the magnets are fine.”

Jesus, this girl was smart, clever, an appreciator of bling, a human lie detector,  _ and _ a relentless smartass… If Parker ever wanted to go international, maybe Tony should set up a blind date…

“Do you like spiders?” Tony yelled, poking the connection for the hell of it. “Guys who talk too much and like to hug?”

His mouth was playing matchmaker, but his brain was thinking about bananas.

After Tony had traded out his wet jeans for a pair of navy blue pajama pants (he’d learned his lesson with the white), he’d found himself sitting cross legged in the middle of the bed, peeling back a banana and slipping chunks into the Winter Soldier’s mouth with more than a little affection.

Yeah, let that sink in for a second...

A month ago, if someone had said that Tony’d be feeding the Winter Soldier a fucking  _ banana, _ Tony would’ve cackled and punched them in the face in a shocking example of Pavlovian response, but last night, after they’d gone through all the bananas, papayas,  _ and _ the mangoes, Tony had wished for a bigger fruit tray.

And right now, Tony wished that Bucky would peel  _ his _ banana…

Or kiss him…

Or hug him really tight…

Or wink at him across the laboratory…

Dropping his forehead on the bench, Tony ignored Shuri’s incessant dance demands and bumped the top of his head into the metal fingers. The fingers he’d help build. The fingers that might touch him if the connection was right...

Sometimes things happen so naturally, that it’s almost unnatural. That’s how Tony’d felt when he’d watched Bucky Barnes doze off in his bed surrounded by pineapple rinds and banana peels (not really). It had seemed like Bucky’d belonged there, snoring a little as he’d mushed his face into the pillow. And, yeah, that had freaked Tony the fuck out, requiring a shot of Johnnie Walker Blue to celebrate working a frightened sub through a truly critical scene, another to celebrate not dying in the process, and a few more before he’d been able to curl up around Bucky Barnes’ like his life had depended on it...because it probably had…

No, that was a lie.

Tony had looped his hand around Bucky’s waist because he’d  _ wanted  _ to.

A paper airplane suddenly hit Tony in the neck, which  _ hurt, _ and Bucky yelled, “Are we gonna do this or what?” over Cardi B’s questionable use of words.

That was a very good question.

Spinning around on his stool just in time to catch Shuri handing over another aerodynamically precise paper plane to Bucky, Tony’s heart rate increased by at least ten percent...maybe 13...possibly 20...and there was a solid chance he was gonna pass out.

Bucky was just standing there with his weight on one leg, sticking out his hip with an adorable little smile on his ridiculously handsome face…

Honey oat soap. Fresh bananas. The way Bucky had grabbed Tony’s hand as they’d slept…

Jesus. Tony needed to give himself an intervention.

Jumping up, he clapped his hands together and declared, “I need to talk to the stoner,” before he jogged over to snatch the paper airplane out of Bucky’s hand. “Dial him up, Buckeroo. Get him on the horn. We have to show him your Cindy Crawford waves.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Bucky asked, trying (and failing) to reclaim the plane.

Three things Tony had learned about Bucky Barnes over the past few weeks:

  1. He overused the word ‘fuck’. 
  2. He liked rap music way too much for a man who’d been raised in the depression.
  3. When he woke up in the morning, he looked like a grumpy raccoon, before _and_ after coffee.



Tony needed to keep this answer simple...to the point...clear as the clear blue sky...

“I’m talking about ringing up your boo to debrief after our squeaky clean mission.”

Shuri chuckled behind her fingers (not because she was trying to hide the fact that she was chuckling, but because she was pretending to be polite about it).

Three things Tony had learned about Shuri over the past few weeks:

  1. She was smarter than Bruce. 
  2. She was smarter than Helen Cho. 
  3. She was _sassy._



“I want an arm first,” Bucky said, putting his only hand on his hip.

Tony threw the plane back towards Bucky’s  _ other _ hand on the table. “You haven’t had an arm for what? Almost two years? And  _ now _ you’re getting impatient?”

“No arm, no Steve.”

And that’s how Tony found himself in some sort of Google-casual video conference room, sitting in a glorified version of a bean bag chair while the Stubborn Soldier balanced on a purple yoga ball and tossed popcorn into his mouth with his brand new, perfectly functioning arm. When Steve Rogers’ stupid face filled the giant screen in front of them, the idiot was wearing sunglasses.

“Do I even want to ask why you’re wearing  _ mirrored _ sunglasses?” Tony grumbled, snatching the bowl of popcorn out of Bucky’s lap. “You look like a total douchebag.”

“I’m incognito.”

Steve had delivered that line without the hint of a smile. He was just sitting there, all straight shoulders in a Public Enemy t-shirt (no shit), with his iconic judgemental jawline barely hidden by a total stoner beard.

Throwing an entire handful of popcorn at the screen, Tony snapped, “Really, Steve?”

“Who’s Steve?”

There was a pause, two mortal frenemies locked in a staredown for at least five seconds before Bucky snorted and fell backwards off his yoga ball. Of course, he managed to catch himself with his new arm because Shuri had calibrated it perfectly on the first try ( _ so  _ annoying). In fact, they were  _ all _ annoying.

“Oh, I get it, Cap,” Tony yelled, seriously considering dumping the popcorn on Bucky and throwing the bowl at the screen. “You’re  _ always _ an asshole.  _ Bucky’s _ an asshole when he’s around you. And together, your Wonder Twin Powers form one enormous super soldier asshole.”

“Something like that.” Steve shrugged. “Speaking of which, I’m sorry we left you in Siberia…”

“No, you’re not.”

“Okay, you’re right. But I  _ am _ glad you didn’t freeze to death.”

The sunglasses made it impossible to tell if the asshole was being serious, but Steve’s shoulders settled the instant Bucky’s yoga ball rolled up next to Tony, followed soon after by Bucky himself. Apparently Bucky was Steve’s version of Xanax.

And there they sat, Bucky rolling closer as Steve watched, and none of them saying a damn thing. It was weird. Awkward. Tony needed a Xanax of the  _ real _ variety  _ and _ a Xanax of the Bucky variety...but not while Steve was watching.  _ Jesus. _ When Bucky rolled close enough to sling his right arm over Tony’s shoulder, it seriously felt like the two of them were penguins on display at the Bronx Zoo and Rogers was an annoying tourist on the other side of the glass, checking out their feathers while he shoved a crappy hotdog into his mouth. Tony scrunched up his face because he didn’t like penguins...or tourists...or Steve.

After an unbearable minute, Steve finally reached up and took off his sunglasses, doing that half smile thing he did that was so annoyingly charming. “It’s good to see you, Tony,” he said, leaning closer to the camera. There was a little cut above his eyebrow and a faint hint of a bruise on his cheekbone, which Tony assumed he’d gotten pulling 360s in the back bowls of Vail.

The words ‘It’s good to see you too, Steve’ were on the tip of Tony’s tongue. Despite the fact that Steve was a stupid, weird penguin voyeur with a bitchy attitude, seeing his broad shoulders and dumb face made Tony feel...safer.  _ Ugh, _ lame. “By the way,” Tony grumbled, foregoing sentiment for sass, “thanks for the passive-aggressive letter, asswipe. You really know how to rebuild bridges.”

Jerry Garcia chuckled. “Well, I can’t be better than you at  _ everything _ .”  

And Tony laughed. He couldn’t help it. The truth was, he’d missed this. And, straight up, that was as close to an apology as Tony was ever gonna get from Steve, which was fine, since Tony wasn’t planning on apologizing either.

“So,” Steve said, tossing a genuine smile into the mix, “Bucky tells me you snore.”

“Like a chainsaw,” Bucky added, squeezing Tony’s shoulder almost hard enough to hurt. “Right in my ear, all night long…”

Now, when Tony had agreed to this interesting little arrangement, his mind hadn’t really gotten to the part where he’d be tag teamed by the world’s deadliest comedy duo...

Rolling his eyes and shoving a handful of popcorn into his mouth, Tony mumbled, “People who drink too much snore. It’s a medical fact. You shouldn’t shame people for things beyond their control.”

Bucky instantly dropped his arm, spinning around on his plastic sphere to face Tony, and Dazed and Confused leaned even  _ closer _ to the camera because both of them were stupidly intuitive and Tony’d said way too much. Now he felt like the  _ only _ penguin on display, waddling around on his man-made iceberg in a giant glass case while  _ two _ super soldiers shoved crappy hotdogs into their mouths...

But Bucky didn’t look like a tourist, and his breath didn’t smell like mustard...so that wasn’t right. Buckyboo smelled like fish.

Tony grimaced. One, because fish,  _ ew, _ and two, because he’d just realized that he was the short, old penguin with the ratty feathers who always binged on sardines and fell over, and Steve and Bucky were the two giant Emperor Penguins with the fancy yellow feathers on top of their heads who liked to wobble over and make fun of him... 

_ “Tony...” _ Bucky whispered, staring at him like he’d just spit out a huge meaningful paragraph...

“Annoyingly handsome penguin...” Tony tossed back, trying to ignore the reality that  _ two _ hands were suddenly squeezing his thigh.  _ Feelings _ were about to crash this reunion special, and it was gonna be a real shit storm.

Moving up from squeezing to  _ rubbing, _ Bucky said, “What you did for me last night was selfless, kind, and gave me so much hope. I need you to know that.”

Deflect. Deflect. Deflect.

“Just an average Friday night…”

“I don’t think that’s true,” Steve interrupted, fluffing up his stupid blond feathers.

“You don’t know what I do on the weekends!” Tony shouted, deflecting like a pro. “Last Friday I gave General Ross an even better bath than I gave your non-boyfriend, and the Friday before that I washed the hell out of that Punisher guy’s hair.”

“That’s funny. I heard he had a buzz cut,” Bucky said with a big ol’ grin, getting dangerously close to kissing Tony’s cheek...

Jumping to his feet like he was gonna storm out with real dramatic flair, Tony snapped, “That’s why I washed his vengeful  _ balls!” _ then proceeded to not move an inch.

Draw your own conclusions.

A shocking amount of non-verbal penguin communication suddenly erupted:

  * The video screen penguin gazed at the sparkly clean penguin with the fabulous hair, both of them furrowing their penguin foreheads.
  * The sparkly clean penguin, who smelled like lavender, honey, coffee, and fish ducked his beak to stare at the emotionally fucked-up old penguin.
  * The emotionally fucked-up alcoholic penguin scowled at the Silent Bob penguin, who was busy getting blazed in his Antarctic pot cloud.



And around and around again they went on their dysfunctional penguin merry-go-round.  

Tony was dizzy by the time Steve interrupted the visual gang bang. “Bucky’s hair looks gorgeous, Tony. You did a  _ really _ good job.”

Jesus Christ.

“You’re gonna compliment me on his  _ hair, _ not his  _ arm?” _

Tony knew damn well that Steve  _ was _ and  _ wasn’t  _ talking about a stellar shampoo job when he complimented Tony’s handiwork. You see, Steve Rogers was being a sneaky, sneaky bitch, flipping the table so hard that not only was Tony popping another Viagra-free boner, but he suddenly felt like buying both of these stupid supermodel penguins a coveted Swiss Audemars Piguet watch  _ and _ dropping to his knees at the same damn time! Apparently, Mr. Rogers knew a hell of a lot more about power dynamics than Tony had given him credit for…

“His arm looks beautiful, Tony, but that was Shuri too.” Steve paused, making sure that Tony was looking at him before he cocked his head to one side and whispered, “But Bucky’s hair...that was all  _ you…” _

Suddenly the smell of sardines was wonderful, as was the feeling of Bucky rolling his stupid yoga ball closer and closer until he’d wrapped his  _ arms _ around Tony’s waist…

Now, make no mistake, everything about this was crazy _...everything... _ but for a man like Tony, it was in the craziest situations that he did the craziest things.

Smiling, Tony reclaimed his  _ slightly _ shorter Emperor Penguin status, grazing the ends of Bucky’s hair with his fingers as he said, “It was my pleasure, Steve. And if Bucky’d like me to, I’d be honored to do it again.”

***

  
  


Despite the bugs, heat, humidity, sweat, and the very odd substitution of rhinoceroses for horses, Wakanda was pretty spectacular. Before Project D/s, Tony had only planned on staying a few weeks to help slap some Super Glue all over Humpty Dumpty’s mechanical shell so Shuri could shove his ass back up onto his wall, but here Tony was, over a month later, doing yoga in front of the curved floor to ceiling glass wall in the living room as the sun rose over the horizon (#nofilter). 

Tony  _ definitely _ wasn’t gonna  _ say _ that he was feeling healthier than he had in years because he was still drinking too much, sleeping like shit, and riding the anxiety train on the regular, but he felt... _ better. _ In addition to increasing his fiber intake with the excellent spiced bran muffins that kept appearing outside his door at the crack of dawn, Tony’d gained a greater understanding of the reason Runaway Rogers had entrusted T’Challa with Bucky’s healing. This place was a literal utopia.

Settling into Warrior II, Tony could honestly say that he had  _ zero _ intentions of booking a return ticket to The Land of Stress and Heart Attacks any time soon. Happy had the kid situation somewhat under control, Rhodey had the bare-bones Avengers situation sort of under control, and Pepper, bless her heart, had everything else  _ totally _ under control; meaning if Tony wanted to take time off to work on his core, drink some of the best coffee in the world, and special order pretty things for Bucky Barnes, he totally could.

Speaking of pretty things, Bucky was quietly sitting on the floor, leaning back against the glass and sipping his Kenyan AA coffee while Tony stretched out the kinks that came with pushing 47 and playing hero with the big boys (the ones who avoided arthritis with super soldier serum and vibranium infused magical plants). When Tony shifted into Reverse Warrior, his back cracked audibly, but Bucky didn’t budge, ignoring Tony’s mortality in favor of blowing steam over the edge of his mug.

The White Wolf was nice like that.

Switching back to Warrior II with his next breath, Tony couldn’t help but smile.  

‘Start slow and simple’. Those were the first words on Bucky’s list, and they were words that Tony was honoring, despite his wildly growing emotions for the woodland creature currently picking at the hole in the knee of his pants. He’d put his arm back on after they’d rolled out of bed, and he was wearing a pair of loose grey sweatpants and a soft blue cotton overshirt with the sleeves rolled up and the buttons undone. It made him look casual. Easy.

And god, Tony was really learning to love easy.

‘Slow and simple’ meant getting to know each other for _real:_ sharing stories around the campfire, secrets over s’mores, _feelings_ inside a cozy tent in the wilds of Wakanda… Actually, none of those things were true (camping, _yuck),_ but stories _had_ been told in bug free environments, and secrets _had_ been spilled over a wide assortment of desserts (the White Wolf had a _serious_ sweet tooth). 

But seriously, Tony wasn’t slacking on the ‘slow’ part because washing Bucky’s nipples with honey oat soap had been one thing, but restraining him was gonna be an entirely different ball game; one that Tony wasn’t dumb enough to buy a ticket for until the two of them had played a rousing game of 20 questions and had shared at least one vanilla milkshake (and not the kind that brings all the boys to the yard).

As a result of Tony’s wisdom and patience, he’d spent the past two weeks working with Shuri on a forcefield design for the compound while being outvoted about the musical selection in the workshop, accepting Happy’s incessant phone calls about the kid acting like the Daredevil of Queens, and getting to know The Farmer in the Dell while he lifted bales of hay with his ridiculously rippling muscles.

Fun facts included:

  1. Bucky’d been in love with Steve since they were 16...maybe 15 (probably 14). 
  2. While Lil’ Buck loved Kanye, he hated Kim. 
  3. Steve and Peggy had been in a real, honest-to-goodness relationship, and there’d been a Wild Wild West fistfight in a London hotel room where Bucky’d broken Steve’s brand new, genetically enhanced nose to make a fucking point.
  4. Bucky didn’t understand the appeal of reality television. (Quote: “If I wanted to know what it was like to go crab fishing, I’d just go fucking crab fishing!”). 
  5. Bucky was scared shitless that he was in some kind of mental honeymoon phase. He was worried that his programming was just hiding out, waiting for the ink on the hypothetical marriage certificate to dry before it reared its ugly head, bitching at Steve for forgetting to take out the trash before the Winter Soldier beat the fuck out of him with a microwave. 
  6. Steve _did_ know how to snowboard, although Bucky wouldn’t disclose the precise mountain range where he’d learned how to Ollie in between his Secret Avengers (copyright infringement) missions.  
  7. Bucky didn’t want to fight ever again, despite the highly weaponized left arm that Tony and Shuri had just attached to his neural net. 
  8. Bucky truly believed that he’d never be able to have a healthy sexual relationship again because the last time someone had tried to ‘fuck him’, the Winter Soldier had broken his conditioning just long enough to snap the bastards neck and _literally_ rip his cock off (not in that order). 



After hearing number eight, Tony had spent the next 14 hours holed up in the back corner of Shuri’s workshop with a bottle of Wakandan Chocolate Whiskey he’d procured from the King’s private liquor cabinet (side note: The bittersweet taste had a warm finish that was surprisingly smooth and delightful. Four out of five stars). Now, Tony hadn’t taken a detour down relapse lane because he was afraid of Bucky…no, no, no...the casualness of Bucky’s voice when he’d talked about getting  _ raped _ had done the trick.

True story: Bucky’d been eating a chocolate frosted donut with sprinkles when he’d explained how a ‘man from the Strike Force’ had electrocuted him with a cattle prod when he hadn’t bent over fast enough,  _ heavily _ implying with his easygoing tone that sexual violence had been a regular thing in Bucky’s life for  _ years. _

Horrific. Heinous. Deplorable.  _ Unspeakable... _

But, believe it or not, the donut casualness of Act 1 hadn’t been the worst part. Nope. That honor had gone to the shame in Bucky’s eyes when he’d pulled open the red curtain for Act 2. When he’d described the way his  _ rapist _ had bled out from the hole where his dick had been, Bucky had folded inwards, his spine bending into an impossible curve as his shoulders hunched forward...his eyes dropping to the floor. And when Bucky’d explained how he’d twisted the bastard’s head around 180 degrees  _ after _ the monster had sputtered out his last breath, he’d tossed his half-eaten donut back into the box like he hadn’t deserved it!

It had been a fucking  _ donut _ for Christ’s sake! And a slightly stale one at that!

Just  _ thinking _ about it made Tony’s hands shake.

But Bucky’s actions had made it perfectly clear… He really thought that being  _ raped _ wasn’t the shocking part of his story... but that his actions  _ defending _ himself were!

Tony had to stretch up into Tree Pose and focus on one particular vine in one particular tree just to keep his breathing under control.

The truth was, by getting to know Bucky, Tony was inadvertently getting to know Steve, gaining a better understanding of his stupid, stubborn, idiotic decisions and  _ maybe _ even agreeing with a few of them. Tony never thought that he’d see eye to eye with Steve on  _ anything _ he’d done post-Romania, but the second Bucky’d taken a bite of his donut and said ‘fuck him’ like he was nothing more than a piece of meat, Tony’d had the uncontrollable urge to galavant across the continents and blow up every last sick, disgusting Hydra mother fucker too.

After four uneaten meals (and one empty bottle destroying his semi-sober AA track record), Tony had figured out how to expand the Wakandan shield an additional four percent without losing its integrity, learned everything there was to know about Shuri’s kinetic energy boosters, and had worked up plans to integrate them into the kid’s Iron Spider suit, Tony’s nano-suit,  _ and _ into stupid Steve’s new shield (that Tony may or may not have already started building, because there was no way in hell he was giving back the old one when he could make the idiot an even better one and  _ never ever _ have to talk about how he  _ shouldn’t _ have taken back the original one in the first place).  _ Phew. _ Oh, and somewhere in there, he’d spent a couple of minutes online, drunkenly picking out something special for Bucky…

That had been three days ago.

Tony gave up on looking at a tree and acting like a tree, kneeling down and dropping back into Child’s Pose.

Relaxing his stomach, Tony settled into his hips and considered life. Specifically,  _ mid _ -life.  _ More _ specifically, mid-life crises. Hangovers at 47 were no joke. Hardcore relapses weren’t funny at any age, but they were especially...embarrassing?...annoying?...lame?...at an age when he should be buying hair plugs and red Bugattis (oh, wait, he already had one of those)... What-fucking-ever. The point was, Tony was upset about how upset he’d gotten, because it meant that he…

Okay, fuck Child’s Pose. Shifting up to Plank, he started doing push-ups so he’d stop feeling like a four-year-old picking up DD Playboy models at Hugh’s mansion and illegally street racing in his mid-life crisis Audi R8 Spyder (oh, yeah, he had one of those too).

“Five, six, seven, eight…”

Shifting in Tony’s peripheral push-up vision, Bucky leaned over onto his fancy new arm before he asked, “You okay?”

“Yep. 11, 12, 13…” Tony was doing these push-ups  _ way _ too fast. “Just thinking about buying a used Ford Fusion. 16, 17…” Like  _ way _ too fast. “179,000 miles, bad transmission, no muffler, rusted body…”

“And why would you do something like that?”

“20…” Tony collapsed onto his stomach. Not because his arms hurt (even though they did), but because he wanted the used Ford Fusion to give him a hug.

“Tony…”

Flopping over onto his back, he looked at Bucky’s beard from his new upside-down view. “Okay, story time. Do you like stories? Sure you do.” Tony sucked in a deep breath, trying to slow his heart rate to something survivable. “Once upon a time, there was a man...me, in this case...who found himself on beheading row in a cave in Afghanistan. How I got there isn’t important, bad decisions,  _ blah, blah, blah,  _ daddy issues,  _ yada, yada, yada, _ but how I got  _ out _ of there is.

“In case you didn’t get the press release, that rustic local was where I built my first suit. I made it out of scrap metal and spare parts with a man who saved my life with a fucking car battery.” Tony paused, because this part of the story did the opposite of slowing down his heart rate.  _ This  _ was the part that was still hard to think about ten years later. “Yinsen. That was his name.”

Bucky nodded.

Something else he’d learned about Bucky Barnes: he was an amazing listener.

After a few more semi-deep breaths, Tony was able to turn the page of his delightful children’s story and continue down memory lane. “I built that suit for survival, not ass kicking. I mean, it did kick ass... _ not enough,  _ but it did. But at its core, that suit was about surviving to see another day. It was about getting out of that fucking cave and finding a way to fix the things I’d done to myself, to the people around me, to the entire world…”

Sighing, Tony looked at the way Bucky’s shirt was falling open, revealing the dark edges of the joint he’d reconstructed.

“Sometimes I forget about that suit. I get lost in all the bells and whistles, the nano tech, the Bugattis and the Lamborghinis, the girls with big boobs in bunny masks…”

Bucky raised his eyebrows.

“But it’s a mistake to forget it,” Tony whispered, teetering on the edge of an emotional breakthrough (or an emotional breakdown), “even for a second.”

“Because it’s who you are at your core.” It was a statement, not a question.

Closing his eyes, Tony nodded. Then he just said it...because right here, right now, honesty seemed important:  _ “You _ remind me of that suit, Bucky.”

There were a lot of people in his life who loved to talk: Happy, Pepper, Rhodes, the kid (Jesus, the kid  _ never _ shut up), and he wouldn’t trade their incessant yapping for anything.  _ He wouldn’t. _ But the quiet after Tony had delivered the story’s final line was  _ Some Kind of Wonderful _ (whatever happened to Eric Stoltz?), as were the toes that slowly wiggled their way into the top of Tony’s hair...

Five minutes passed (maybe ten) before Bucky lost The Quiet Game. “Do you want to wait to do the scene?” he asked, wiggling and wriggling all ten toes. “We could go for a walk instead. I’ll even let you feed the goats…”

Laughing, Tony flipped back over, mushing his nose against Bucky’s toes like a total idiot. “I hate your critters, Sergeant Kangaroo.” God, he wanted to kiss them (the  _ toes, _ not the goats).

“Okay, the chickens then…”

Shaking his head with a stupidly big smile on his face, Tony went back to bending his body into painfully soothing positions. Downward Facing Dog. The classic. Good for the shoulders. Good for the spine. Good for thinking…

“I don’t want to wait,” Tony said, meaning it wholeheartedly. “I want to stick to Bill and Ted’s excellent plan.”

Yesterday, after Tony’d ‘fully’ recovered from his bender, Bucky had wandered up to him in the garden (yes, _ the garden) _ and asked if they could try another scene. That had led to a wonderful dinner at a tiny restaurant at the edge of the city; a nice, neutral location to plan, take in the culture, and do a  _ little _ wine tasting (Tony was back on the wagon, after all). Over spiced rice, they’d decided that Bucky’s desire to try posing and kneeling would be a good place to start. Then, over plantain banana stew (surprisingly delicious), they’d agreed that light restraint was go for launch. And finally, over a plate of perfectly piped coconut macaroons, they’d decided to execute Project Sleepover, sans makeovers and pillow fights.

Since Bucky hadn’t slept in Tony’s suite since bathtime, they’d agreed it would be better for him to sleep in the guest room (despite Tony’s inner need for a teddy bear). And it  _ had  _ made sense: get a good night’s sleep, eat a healthy breakfast...drink some coffee before they busted out the silk scarves. Reasonable and Responsible, those were Tony’s two middle names...

Then they’d hit the speed bump.

Smoothly hopping his feet forward, Tony folded over his legs and asked, “So, how’d you sleep?”

“You know the answer to that.”

“I mean  _ after _ the PTSD nightmare clusterfuck.” Tony was trying his best to sound casual (despite the image of Steve’s broken shield flashing through his brain on repeat).

Sighing, Bucky muttered, “Probably the same as you did.”

“So, like shit.”

He stood back up just as Bucky shrugged. And yeah, Tony didn’t really wanna talk about it either. Time to return to Child’s Pose...just for a minute...

Somewhere around the witching hour, Bucky’d screamed so loud that Tony had woken up in a cold sweat from his  _ own _ nightmare. And before he’d really registered what he’d been doing, he’d sprinted to the guest room to discover an equally sweaty and considerably more panicked Bucky Barnes. There’d been a few very confusing moments of ‘who comforts who when both people are completely freaking out?’, then some very inarticulate efforts on Tony’s part to try and convince Bucky that hyper-realistic nightmares were a normal part of the human condition. But since Tony had been hyperventilating and Bucky’d ripped a feather pillow in half with one arm (so much for no pillow fights), it had been a really hard sell at 3:30 in the morning.

After that whole mess, Tony hadn’t made it back to the master bedroom, choosing instead to toss and turn on the end of the California King like a skittish canine (probably a French bulldog) during a thunderstorm. He chuckled into the yoga mat. Food for thought: Is a California King still called a ‘California King’ in Wakanda? Or is it called a ‘Wakandan King’? Because that could be confusing...

Anyway,  _ somewhere _ in there, some level of sleep had occurred because he’d woken up to Bucky playing Solitaire on his phone with his feet resting on the small of Tony’s back.

Yeah, they had to talk about that.

“So I’m your ottoman now, _ huh?” _ Tony asked, pushing up into Plank to offer a helpful visual. “Because that’s an _ entirely _ different thing if you wanna head in that direction. I mean, we’ll have to order all sorts of kinky stuff off Amazon that’s gonna show up on the palace steps in plain brown boxes...if Amazon will even ship BDSM furniture to Wakanda! And I’m telling you, T’Challa’s gonna start asking all sorts of uncomfortable questions about who’s the table and who’s the chair...”

Without answering, Bucky set down his coffee and lined his body up next to Tony’s; his Plank far superior with the help of his shiny new arm and his unfairly toned ass.

“You shouldn’t do a Plank without underwear, Bucky.”

“You shouldn’t check out my dick while you’re holding Plank Position. Now tighten up those abs.”

“It’s hanging down like a fucking ripe banana!”

“Your back’s sagging, Tony. Squeeze your ass!”

When Tony looked over, Bucky was holding himself up with one arm (and it wasn’t the metal one). The shit eating grin on his face was fucking priceless.

Falling onto his stomach, Tony let himself laugh. Fuck bad dreams. Fuck his back hurting from sleeping on the very edge of the Wakandan King  _ (snort). _ Fuck addiction. Fuck Hydra. Fuck Bucky feeling afraid of being physically touched. Fuck it! They needed a frittata!

Popping up to his feet, Tony offered his hand to the man currently Planking with  _ five _ appendages and made a very important announcement. “Get ready, Buckyroo, I’m cooking you the breakfast of champions”

“You mean you’re gonna call someone?” he asked, still holding Plank like a dick  _ (with _ his dick). “Like room service?”

_ “Nooo, _ that’s not what I meant.” Tony pretended to be hurt. “I’ll have you know that long ago, in a galaxy far, far away, I had acrobatic sex with a lovely chef after I sampled raviolis on her TV show to raise money for something… Endangered whales? Albino tigers? No clue...doesn’t matter. Pepper made me do it to improve my tarnished image after things got an itty bit out of hand at my b-day party.”

Bucky still hadn’t taken his hand, so Tony figured he needed more information about the raviolis...

“Full disclosure: In 2009, I was totally dying from this awful, self-inflicted bout of Palladium poisoning, and as most people do when they’re about to kick the bucket, I did a lot of stupid shit. Just ask Bared Beto.” Tony winked at Bucky for no reason whatsoever. “Anyhoo, the morning after some high-quality Italian-ravioli sex, Little Miss Flexible taught me how to whip up the perfect frittata.” Tony clapped his hands together because he was an excellent storyteller. “Plus, you look like you could use some protein.”

Bucky side-eyed him, and Tony pretended he was an innocent angel, taking his hand  _ and _ his dirty, dirty thoughts to the kitchen.

The whole exchange seemed like the perfect segue to set the ball (not the  _ balls) _ in motion. “Hey, Sergeant,” he tossed out with lots of Julia Child flair, “while I’m cooking, how about you go take a peek at the things I set out for you in my room...see if there’s anything that tickles your fancy for our post-breakfast date...”

A rush ran all the way up Tony’s spine, shooting serotonin packed happy dust across his synapses, which was a little unexpected. Okay, a  _ lot _ unexpected. Tony had bought millions (maybe even billions) of gifts for submissives: journals with handmade paper and leather covers, stiletto boots with buckles for days, cookie bouquets when he’d felt like having crumbs licked out of his chest hair… But Pepper had always been the one who’d mattered, the one who’d triggered the happy dust, the one whose gifts had come from a place of love…

Just before Tony’s ego had unleashed Ultron, almost destroying the planet and  _ actually  _ destroying their relationship, Tony had sent Cartier a design for a stunning new collar: five diamond-paved rows set on top of soft, beveled blue leather... It was sitting on a shelf in the compound’s main vault, still wrapped in shiny silver paper with a pretty pink bow. Pepper had no idea it existed.

Letting out the world’s longest sigh, Tony dug around in the refrigerator like he had no idea what eggs looked like. He couldn’t go there. Not now, not later, not Now & Laters… He just couldn’t.

Back to whipping up his frittatas! Frittata Time was good… Healthy...

He grabbed the eggs, fresh from Bucky’s stupid chickens. The broccoli, a tomato, an onion, a red bell pepper…

Shit.

Shit, shit, shit.

He put the pepper back on the shelf...

“Are you gonna start doing push-ups again?” Bucky asked, leaning his elbows on the other side of the counter.

Maybe it was because a red bell pepper had almost made him cry...or because vegetables were exposing his weakness...but Tony was so fucking grateful for Bucky’s sweetly sarcastic intervention.

“You didn’t listen to me,” Tony said, carefully lining up all the ingredients in front of Bucky’s wonderfully mismatched arms.  

“Well, you looked like you were freaking out inside the fridge, so…” Bucky smiled, and it was understanding, and kind, and sparkly, and it made Tony’s stomach do all sorts of unexpected flip flops. Frittata Time (minus one particular vegetable) made Tony the good kind of nervous.  

Trying to get his dragonflies under control (‘butterflies’ were overused), Tony pulled out a knife…

No. Badly worded.

Settling into his role, Tony placed the broccoli on the cutting board and took a few slow, deep breaths. “I was just having a mild panic attack about Capsicums…”

Bucky snorted. “Cap comes?”

“No, dork. Capsicums are pep...” He cut himself off because Bucky’s blue eyes were like magical orbs from Planet Zenon, absorbing all of Tony’s pepper pain with one slow blink (handy when your mouth was on fire). “Never mind. What I’m trying to say is that I’m ready if you are…”

“Ready to make frittatas, or ready for me to look?”

The next breath wasn’t forced. In fact, it was spectacularly easy for Tony to straighten his shoulders and say, “Both. I cook; you decide what I should tie you up with. Seems like a fair division of labor, if you ask me.”

Bucky blushed, which was exactly what Tony had been hoping for since Tony was already turning the color of the ripe tomato on the  _ inside… _

It was time to come clean: Tony had spent a grand total of 35 minutes plotting out the kinetic energy designs for Spiderkid’s new suit and a whopping  _ three hours _ scouring the kinkiest corners of the internet for the perfect present for Bucky Barnes (even drunk, he’d timed himself).

The tomato and the onion were suddenly being juggled. Easy. Casual. A relaxing manipulation of vegetables. “Fair division of labor,  _ huh?”  _ Bucky said with a chuckle. “Depends on how good of a cook you are.”

“I already told you I’m amazing, o ye of little faith.”

Catching the non-capsicums in his metal hand, Bucky’s soft, warm one was suddenly on top of Tony’s knife-wielding, broccoli-chopping hand, which was…

Jesus, that was too fucking confusing.

Bucky was still touching Tony’s hand when he murmured, “I have nothing but faith in you,” with a syrupy sweetness that made the ridiculous dragonflies zinging around in Tony’s stomach totally lose their non-stereotypical shit.

Happy zinging. Excited zinging. ‘Holy Mother of God, is Bucky gonna like the present?’ zinging. And perhaps, most importantly,  _ emotional _ zinging.

When Bucky headed for the bedroom, the extra sway he put into his hips made  _ Tony _ blush on the outside. And he tried not to think about Steve when he chopped up the broccoli...but he  _ definitely _ thought about Steve as he reduced the green stuff into smokable pieces…

Would the fugitive blazing humongous trees with Spicoli in Aspen be ‘totally cool’ with Tony staying up late, sipping a full-bodied red, and carefully laying out an assortment of silk ties for his one true love? Would Steve-O look at the contents of Tony’s special box, puff out a huge cloud of smoke and say, ‘that’s totally gnarly, dude’?

Tony started cracking  _ way _ too many eggs. Who knew how much protein this guy could put down?

Good god.

He cracked the next one even harder, because now he was imagining Steve feeding Bucky his daily recommended dose...which, because it was  _ Steve, _ was probably so  _ huge _ that it overflowed and spilled down Bucky’s dimpled chin...

Before he knew it, Tony had cracked the whole dozen.

“Hey, Bucky,” Tony called out, because he’d been gone for a  _ very _ long,  _ very _ hot, protein-filled minute. “Everything okay in there?”

No reply.

Maybe Tony’d gone overboard and Bucky was in there scowling at the choices? He chopped the tomato in half. He should’ve stuck with the basic black silk scarves that had been tucked in the corner of his suitcase instead of getting all emotional thinking that Bucky deserved something better...something one-of-a-kind. For Christ’s sake, Tony had galavanted around the open-air market in search of the softest, prettiest scarves in shades of indigo blue to compliment Bucky’s eyes! Who the hell did that kind of shit for their  _ second _ scene with a  _ borrowed _ submissive? Oh, yeah, Tony Stark, hopeless romantic, shameless color coordinator…

He sliced the tomato into quarters.

Even worse, Tony had skipped right over to the rhinoceros outfitters (happy as happy could be) and picked out a set of coarse straps with a heavy weave, thinking that Bucky might want something with more resistance and sensation against his skin. And if  _ those _ puppies didn’t have Bucky thinking that Tony was a presumptuous asshole, then the stupid tie with the little Iron Man helmets printed all over it was definitely doing the trick.

Tony had packed it as a joke to wear to T’Challa’s royal wedding, royal fox hunt, or royal polo match (his royal knowledge rested firmly with Charles and Diana) with the intention of making T’Challa roll his royal eyes. Setting it out as an option for Bucky had been...ballsy? Stupid? Asinine? All of the above?

Chopping the tomato into infinite pieces, Tony yelled, “Bucky, are you okay? I’m getting worried out here…”

It had to be the carefully wrapped box that Tony’d placed on the edge of the bed... They hadn’t talked about gifts. Stupid.  _ So stupid! _

Quickly washing his hands to avoid gifting Bucky with salmonella poisoning too, Tony was about to take  _ another _ panicked jog across the suite when he turned around and ran smack dab into Bucky’s chest. Tony was really starting to love the fuzzy part...

“You bought me a present?”

The little package was in Bucky’s hand, and Tony was trapped between the stove, a gallon of egg yolks, an obliterated tomato, and one solid mountain of a man. But Bucky’s energy wasn’t threatening or pissed. It was...curious? Touched? Even after 20 games of 20 questions, they still didn’t know each other well enough for Tony to be sure.

“You don’t have to accept it, Bucky. We didn’t talk about gift giving. I shouldn’t have assumed…”

“I love surprises.”

Tony did not, in any way, want to compare Bucky to a starving dog, but his eyes were big and round like Tony’d just walked into an overcrowded shelter on a hot summer day and handed the poor guy a Milkbone. 74 birthdays and 74 Christmases had passed since 1944, and Tony had the awful feeling that this was the first present that Bucky’d been given in all that time.

And if that was true, then fuck Steve.

This moment… Tony took a really, really, really deep breath. This moment was the perfect example of Tony needing to keep  _ every ounce _ of his shit together.

Making sure his voice was steady and strong, Tony didn’t go easy on the enthusiasm when he said, “Well, in that case, Bucky Boo, you can choose to open it when we’re in the scene, or you can untie the ribbon during Frittata Time...make breakfast a little party...”

Bucky’s fingers were running all over the box,  _ exactly _ like a kid at Christmas. And when he said, “I think you should cook faster,” Tony was surprised that Bucky didn’t put the box up to his ear and shake it.

Also, the forwardness of Bucky’s statement hadn’t slipped by unnoticed. And neither was the way he was getting closer by the second, effectively creating a Bucky blockade.

It was a little bit shocking…and  _ shockingly _ hot.

“It’s gonna be hard to whisk my eggs when you have me trapped in this corner.”

Bucky snorted.

Yeah, that sentence had come out  _ way _ dirtier than intended… Or had it?

Chuckling, Bucky turned on his heel, giving Tony a surprise of his very own. The little shit had tucked the Iron Man tie into the waistband of his sweatpants, and the loops of silk were dangling down over his ass, bouncing as he walked towards the windows...

Needless to say, Tony had never made a frittata faster in his entire life.

***

 

Kinks. Tony had many. Women wearing patent leather stilettos and nothing else, intricately detailed harnesses that framed his partners’ curves and breasts, fishnet  _ anything, _ leather masks (bunnies, cats, standard issue blindfolds...anything  _ Eyes Wide Shut _ would do), and once, on a coke bender, throwing bologna slices at a row of naked asses at a particularly wild sex party (long story), but right now he was adding four or five or 20 more to his list, because holy hell... 

The man who’d just walked into the living room fresh out of shower was...inspiring, to say the least.

After Frittata Time (delicious, by the way), Tony had done a little redecorating while Bucky’d excused himself to get squeaky clean. Since the suite was on the fourth floor overlooking an area of CGI jungle that folded into the city, the balcony running along the exterior kept any peeping Toms from peeping. No paparazzi, no telephoto lenses, no Iron Man fanatics with binoculars...just jungle, jungle, and more jungle. It was the perfect place to pose Bucky.

Tony had been completely OCD about centering a soft white rug directly in front of the curved windows, making sure everything was lined up perfectly before he’d pulled a leather armchair into the middle of the room. Six feet away. That’s how far Tony was going to be from Bucky when he saw him naked for the first time…

Six feet away from the man currently dripping water all over the wood floor...

The present had just been tucked into the corner of the armchair when Bucky had plodded out of the guest room: wet hair brushed back over his ears, shirt and sweats back on (barely), drops of water glistening on his forearms and dripping down the center of his exposed chest. Bucky knew how to use a towel, so those water drops were strategic. Bucky was  _ flirting. _ First the little hip sway, then the tie tucked into his waistband like a sexy little tail, and now the ‘check out the top of my soaking wet happy trail’ waistband placement.

Thank god Tony’d changed into his dick strangling jeans.

“Is it bad that I’m picturing you in a pair of stilettos?” Tony murmured, straightening out his black tank top. He was going for a sexy mechanic vibe (Stark circa 2010).

Winking at him (yes,  _ winking), _ Bucky flexed his foot back and forth, spreading around the drops of water with his big toe. “Only if the toes aren’t too pointy. I don’t like it when my feet are squished.”

There was flirting, and there was  _ flirting. _ It appeared that Bucky Barnes had an affinity for the later.

Tony licked his lips, watching those toes getting wetter…feeling his dick getting harder…

“Did Steve ever steal a pair of Peggy’s heels for you?”

“No. But even if he had, they wouldn’t have fit. Peggy had small feet…” Bucky tugged on the edges of his shirt, messing with the button holes before he not-so-subtly adjusted his cock.  “I’ve never tried heels,” he said, looking at Tony like he wanted to eat him alive, “but, hey...new century...new experiences…”

Tony  _ had _ to keep his shit together _...had to... _ because that little exchange merited a fuck ton of reasonable and responsible pondering before Tony started scouring the internet again…

“What size are you?”

Shit!

Tony Reasonable Responsible Stark was struggling, going right back to black leather stilettos with a single ankle strap...

“11,” Bucky answered with so much bravado that Tony almost took a step backwards. “It’s easy to remember because it’s the same size as my dick.”

That right there had been an amazing line. Witty. Snappy delivery. But the tone was all wrong for the situation. If Tony were back in Amsterdam, paddling bunny girl in her patent leather thong, that level of suggestive dialogue would be fine _...perfect... _ but coming out of Bucky’s mouth, it was one giant leap for BDSM-kind when he and Bucky were supposed to be taking baby steps on planet Earth.

Ignoring Bucky’s wet nipples with great difficulty, Tony grabbed both of his hands and said, “I don’t think you meant that.”

“Well, technically, ten and a half…”

“Bucky, stop.”

It hurt to see how quickly Bucky’s jaw snapped shut...how fast his eyes shifted to the windows. “I’m sorry…” he muttered. “I’m just nervous, and I guess I just…I don’t know.”

“No,  _ I’m _ sorry.” Gripping Bucky’s hands tightly, Tony applied a touch of downward pressure. “I think you’re beyond attractive.  _ Beyond _ beyond. But this isn’t supposed to be about dick jokes and me drooling all over the floor...even though I  _ love _ dick jokes _...and _ drooling. But I shouldn’t have led with the shoes. I’m sorry, that’s on me.”

Blinking, Bucky returned the squeeze, his eyes saying what his mouth wasn’t: that maybe the original idea of this whole thing was shifting and neither of them really knew where they stood.

“Do you want me to cook you another frittata?” Tony asked, giving him an out. “We could catch up on  _ Game of Thrones.” _

Shaking his head so little drops of water hit Tony in the face, he whispered, “No, Tony. I’d like to do the scene. I  _ need _ to do the scene...”

Kinks. Tony had many. But looking at Bucky Barnes right now, he wasn’t thinking about  _ any _ of them. He was thinking about something all-consuming...something exponentially more addictive...something that Tony was utterly afraid of, yet wanted more than anything…

The warmth of it spread all the way to the tops of Tony’s ears when he replied, “Okay, Bucky.”

...here’s my heart on a silver platter…

“That was an excellent joke by the way.” Tony chuckled, deflecting like a fucking pro. “I wish I could say the same about my size tens.”

“Well, then you’d look really disproportionate.” When Bucky smiled, it reached the corners of his eyes, and Tony knew it was time...

He led Bucky to the rug.

During their quaint little dinner, the two of them had responsibly negotiated places where their hands could go, body parts that could be touched and caressed, and how far they wanted to take things if everything went swimmingly. But now that Bucky was standing in front of him _...waiting... _ Tony very quickly found himself in a headspace that women hopping around in bunny masks just hadn’t been taking him...

A headspace where Tony took the time to softly kiss Bucky’s cheek before backing up a few steps to open the scene.

A first kiss. A first sexual encounter. A first order with undeniable intent. Tony took a deep breath.

“I’d like you to remove everything but your underwear, please. Slowly…”

Nodding obediently, Bucky allowed his damp shirt to fall backwards onto the floor, fully exposing his chest, his scars, the fuzzy hairs that Tony was quickly falling in love with, and his soft belly, all 12 abs relaxing enough to let the nine-egg frittata pooch out a little bit.

“So pretty,” Tony said without thinking. “Now please, Bucky, take off your pants.”

Tony had been too busy admiring Bucky’s full stomach to catch the meaning of the quirky little smile that had crossed his lips, but he most certainly got the memo after Bucky’d followed the order perfectly, like the little shit he was.

_ Of course _ Tony’d forgotten that Bucky’d been hanging loose and free, and  _ of course  _ Bucky’d neglected to point out that it was about to be dick for days.

One thing was for sure. Bucky hadn’t been lying about his shoe size.

This was a dick test. Bucky was seeing how far he could push before Tony pushed back. But big dick energy or not, there was no way in hell that Tony was gonna let Bucky see him sweat/drool/come in his pants. At least not yet….

Backing up, Tony took his sweet ass time sitting down in the chair, spreading his knees as wide as the armrests before he said, “Stand up straight, Bucky. I’d like to see all of you.”

It was almost embarrassing how hard Tony’s dick got after Bucky’s spine snapped into place. If this was a test on middle-age erection speed, Tony would’ve been at the top of his class: A+, 4.0, Honor Roll, Vale _ dick _ torian... But it wasn’t. The test he was trying to pass had 11 inches of questions...11  _ questions… _ Jesus fucking Christ.

‘Subtly’ adjusting his 4.0 before he lost all circulation, he whispered, “Good boy...”

Tony blinked, because, yeah...that had just slipped out. Not ‘good job, Bucky’, not ‘well done, Bucky’, not ‘I’m so proud of you,  _ Bucky’...  _ But a real, honest-to-goodness ‘good boy’, and  _ damn _ if Tony didn’t mean it…

Pressing his shoulders back against the leather, Tony paused to ground himself...counting to three in his head _...breathing... _ before he said, “Make sure you’re in the center of the rug, Bucky, just in front of the glass. And when you get there...when you’re sure your feet are perfect...I’d like to see how pretty you look with all ten fingers interlocked behind your ass.”

A first pose...

Bucky responded beautifully, and Tony simply looked, appreciating the way Bucky’s toes disappeared into the fuzzy rug, comparing the narrowness of his hips to the width of his shoulders, and getting lost in the way Bucky’s lips slowly parted as his eyes focused on Tony and  _ only _ Tony.

“Perfect,” Tony said, chewing on the inside of his cheek, deciding what  _ he _ wanted and what Bucky  _ needed. _ He didn’t have to think long… “Stay just like that while I sit back and study  _ everything. _ ..while I learn how your body is put together...while I choose where I’m going to touch you first. Can you do that for me?”

There was zero hesitation. Bucky nodded, water droplets from his wet hair sliding down his chest, and Tony took note that his cock nodded too.

It was the first time that he’d watched another man getting hard…

...and it was…

Tony swallowed. Then he swallowed again because the eroticism of watching Bucky respond to his words...the power of knowing that Bucky’s cock was  _ growing _ for  _ him… _

Yeah. He needed a second. But first...

“You’ve gotta tell me, beautiful. What’s your color?”

Bucky gave him a shy little smile before he said, “Green,” and Tony smiled right back. He couldn’t help it.

“Good, because now it’s time for you to  _ wait.” _

Settling back into the chair, Tony crossed his ankle across his knee. One, to carefully watch Bucky’s breathing, and two, so he could properly acknowledge the  _ enormous _ anaconda in the room.

Bucky was  _ very  _ clearly a man. Yeah, yeah, yeah...cocaine had fueled some ill advised twig on twig action in the 80s, and that Mile High Club experience had involved a stewardess  _ and _ a pilot...then there was Lared Burrito...

Tony cut himself off, because it wasn’t the number of dicks in his past that mattered; it was the fact that none of them had been connected to a man who’d made Tony’s mouth water like the astonishingly complex Bucky Barnes. And none of them had ever made Tony think of any words that started with the letter ‘L’ except ‘Listerine’.

Fact: Tony was going down the bisexual highway, and he was going there in a  _ very big _ , neatly trimmed way. Playboy to Playgirl. Legendary cunnilingus skills, to  _ potentially _ halfway decent blow job skills. Tacos to sausage. Oysters to pointy tridents harnessing the immense power of the ocean...

Would sending Steve a sincere thank you note addressed to ‘Stoner Steve The Generous’ be appropriate in this situation? Was that an  _ inappropriate _ thing to be thinking about right now? Yes, yes it was. Back to the sausage. And to the indescribable man attached to it.

It was the perfect picture. Seriously, it didn’t get any better than this…

The morning light was filtering into the room and softly lighting Bucky’s body around the edges: the wet waves sticking to his shoulders, the hard line of his torso, the muscular curves of his thighs… And making things impossible prettier, Bucky’s stunning new arm was bouncing hints of orange across his ribcage, refracting the light all the way down to the V of his hips.

Tony couldn’t have designed a more perfect body if he tried.

And just like that, sausage appropriate orders started pouring out of Tony’s mouth like he’d been eating hot-dogs, kielbasa, and bratwurst his entire life. “Spread your feet wider, please. Four more inches… Yes, just like that. I want to see  _ every _ part of you, Bucky.”

It was so damn hard keeping his hands on the armrests. Tony was eager to push him, to make Bucky moan and watch him squirm as he pushed  _ all  _ the right buttons... But taking his time learning his submissives’ tells had always been one of Tony’s favorite things…

He couldn’t rush.

From the very beginning, Tony had been turned on by the challenge of figuring out how people worked: what it took to get a teacher to overlook  _ everything, _ the science of reverse psychology when it came to one-night stands, studying elite poker players in Vegas before going all-in, figuring out which racecar driver was going to gun their engine and make their move, the level of ego-stroking it took to defeat big bads wearing audacious horned helmets...or asshole Generals in Washington…

But deconstructing the inner workings of fast cars and alien gods had  _ nothing _ on great sex. Never had, never would.

Ever since Tony had accidentally found himself in a sex club at age 16 (long story), he’d loved watching for the subtle changes in his submissives as he’d guided them through a scene: the barely perceptible changes in posture, the shudder of muscles holding poses or bound by ropes, the depth of emotion revealed by a single breath…learning how wet _...or hard, in this case... _ his submissive should be before he pushed them a little bit harder.

Decoding the meaning of 11 inches of hard cock pointing  _ straight _ at him was an entirely new challenge. Tony nibbled on his bottom lip…

The pose was vulnerable in every way it could possibly be...and Tony wanted Bucky to know it...to  _ feel _ it.  

Pushing him a little harder, Tony made sure Bucky was watching before he tipped his head and openly stared at the light filtering through the little hairs on his balls. It was utterly fascinating watching the sunlight catching the vein on the underside of Bucky’s perfectly straight dick as it pulsed, and when Bucky’s breathing picked up, Tony didn’t have a choice; he  _ had _ to reach down and adjust his own erection before he did permanent damage to the merchandise.

“Pretty, pretty, pretty…” Tony said, leaning forward and draping his elbows over his knees. “So pretty in fact, that I think it’s time for your present.”

The plates shifted in the bicep, a mechanical tell that made Tony smile.  

Quickly grabbing the box, Tony tipped it back and forth in his hands, waiting for Bucky to focus before he slid his index finger into one of the loops of the bow. It wasn’t subtle when Tony added tension to the ribbon, gently sliding his finger in and out… It wasn’t supposed to be.

And it wasn’t subtle when something that  _ wasn’t _ water dripped onto the rug...

“Do you want this?” Tony asked, hardening his features just enough to take things up another notch...

The response was a moan...a slight quiver just below Bucky’s bottom ribs…another drop...

Leaning forward even more, Tony brushed the ribbon across his mouth, keeping his finger right where it was… “Do you want  _ this?” _

It took Bucky a few seconds, but he finally whispered, “Yes. Yes, Tony…”

This was a tipping point, and Tony needed to be careful, choosing his words with obsessive precision despite his endorphins screaming ‘now, more, yes’. He couldn’t forget what the two of them were doing here.

“Good boy. I’m going to come over there and give it to you, but first, I want you to turn around and place your palms flat on the window. Make sure the tip of that pretty dick barely touches the glass. Do you understand?”

Tony’d intentionally left ‘please’ out of that command, making simple, yet critical, changes to make the order that much more direct. The tipping point. The push…

The wait...

Bucky’s bottom lip started quivering, the muscles in his calves vibrating almost imperceptibly, and for one unbearable second, Bucky’s expression said that he was _this_ _close_ to jolting out of the scene. But Tony wasn’t going to let him lose this moment. Bucky was so close to pushing past his own expectations...to overcoming his fears…

Relaxing back into the chair, Tony set the box on his stomach and opened his palms to the ceiling, presenting Bucky with the calmest version of himself…

Patience. Persistence. Believing in your partner.

Learning his tells...

After a few tense minutes, Bucky’s breathing settled back into his stomach and the frittata pooch made its triumphant return. And when Bucky slowly spun around to face the jungle, sliding his hands across the glass until he found the perfect placement to arrange his cock as requested, Tony felt damn proud.

“Please tell me your color....”

“Green,” Bucky whispered, his shoulder blades opening and closing with each breath. “Green.”

It was time.

Tony picked up the box.

When he closed the gap, six feet turning into five...four...three...two...one, everything magnified, the rest of the room fading away to nothing as Tony lined his toes up with the edge of the rug. He blew a soft breath across the shoulder blade that Bucky’d been born with, and just as he’d hoped, the tiny blond hairs rippled along Bucky’s back when the sensation hit. And when Bucky let out the tiniest little moan, Tony exhaled along the seam of the joint, knowing that the skin was more sensitive...more receptive. Within seconds, Bucky’s moans became  _ anything _ but tiny.

“You’re exquisite.” Tony ghosted his lips down Bucky’s spine, pausing to kiss the divots in Bucky’s back...the spots Tony had fallen in love with  _ before _ he’d lost himself in the lavender bubbles.

The second Tony’s mouth made contact, Bucky rocked his hips backwards, and there was no way in hell that his dick was still touching the glass, size 11 or not.

Backing up immediately, Tony had to make a quick decision. Call him out, or let it slip?

Truth was, Bucky hadn’t asked for Tony’s help just for kicks. He  _ wanted _ to understand his limits.  _ That  _ was Tony’s role, and he wasn’t going to pussy out at the first seriously sketchy moment.

Tony didn’t  _ want _ to think about ficus trees, but he  _ definitely _ thought about ficus trees when he firmly said, “I didn’t give you permission to move.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Tony could’ve sworn that he saw the northeast tree move. Not good. Not good  _ at all. _ Images of Dummy spraying fire extinguishers at precisely the  _ wrong  _ moment flashed through his mind, compounded by the knowledge that fire extinguishers didn’t contain enough ketamine to knock out two large elephants.

There was a click. Then two more. And it took a second for Tony to figure out that Bucky’s metal thumb was tapping on the glass.

“Hey, there, sweetheart. Tell me your color.”

“Yellow, but I don’t want to stop. I just need a second.”

Tony knew that Bucky was battling fear. He wasn’t triggered. He wasn’t gonna spin around and rip off Tony’s dick through his super sexy Mick Jagger jeans; he was just  _ afraid _ that he would.

Readjusting the pose, Bucky lowered his hands a little bit and pushed his hips back into the proper position. Feet spread...11 inches from the glass...every bit of naked skin exposed to the jungle. It took a few deep breaths on both sides, but eventually the tapping stopped.

“I’m so proud of you. Please tell me your color, pretty boy.”

“Green.”

Tony shook his head at himself. Sure, that first ‘sweetheart’ had slipped...a momentary lapse of reason...but ‘pretty boy’? Those two little words had been  _ beyond _ intentional, and Stoner Steve be damned, Tony was going to say one (or both) of them again. Probably in rapid succession.

Oh look, he was gonna say them right now...

“Oh my god, sweetheart…look at you. You’re such a  _ pretty _ boy. So pretty, in fact, that I’m going to give you your present.” Tony didn’t touch him, carefully holding the gift under Bucky’s right elbow so he’d only be able to see it in his peripheral vision. “Would you like that?”

“Yes.”

“Yes?”

“Yes, Tony.”

No hesitation. No twitching fingers. Just a ‘yes’...

“I’d very much like to touch you while you open it,” Tony said, slipping behind him. That was the understatement of the century. Tony wanted to touch  _ everything. _ But he needed to check in one more time before they took that  _ enormous _ step for mankind. They were about to land on the moon. Neil Armstrong was about to put on his kinky boots and jump around in low gravity. This was  _ no joke. _ “I’m going to run my fingers up the insides of your legs, Bucky...past your ankles, past your knees...I’m going to touch your inner thighs…”

Bucky moaned, and it sounded desperate…

Sinking to his knees, Tony let his pinky fingers brush across Bucky’s ankle bones before he carefully placed the box between Bucky’s feet. “I need to hear you say it, pretty boy,” Tony coaxed, waiting...watching…smelling the lavender sticking to Bucky’s damp skin...  “What’s your color?”

Tony knew it was green… He could feel it.

When Bucky confirmed, whispering his color with a little hum, the hair on his legs rose along with the goosebumps, and Tony felt like he was so in tune with Bucky’s body that he didn’t have to hold back. It was dragonflies and magnified skin, the perfect power of a Dom understanding what to give and when to give it…

Using just the tips of his index fingers, Tony started at Bucky’s toes, slowly dragging his hands backwards...following the high arches of Bucky’s feet, moving symmetrically up and over his ankle bones, tracing the inner lines of his calves... The muscles in Bucky’s thighs twitched when Tony’s fingers reached the top, and Tony took great pleasure in the sound Bucky made when Tony slipped two fingers into the hollow spaces on either side of his balls.

“I wanna see how much you’re dripping for me, Bucky. And if I like what I see, you can open your present. How’s that sound?”

Tony couldn’t believe the words that had just come out of his mouth...dirty, hot, obscene...but no lie, he’d almost come in his pants when they had. It seemed the taco/sausage transition was going more smoothly than expected.

“Good,” Bucky hummed,  _ “sooo _ good.”

Yeah, no kidding.

Standing up, Tony carefully added a little pressure, letting his fingers linger while he kissed his way up Bucky’s spine. He tasted delicious. It was hard not to lick every piece of him.

A first point of contact...

“Put your hands behind your back, Bucky. Just your hands. Nothing else.”

And when he did, Tony rubbed them both from shoulder to wrist, pulling the muscles  _ and _ the metal in long, firm strokes. The arm had been designed to  _ feel... _ to relay even the smallest sensory input straight to Bucky’s brain. Tony knew because he’d physically made the connections inside of Bucky’s body. He’d touched his insides...

Following the line of Bucky’s right arm, Tony moved around to his side, keeping his eyes on the head of Bucky’s cock as he knelt down beside him. This was it. If things were gonna go wrong, it was gonna be right here. But Tony wanted it. Even more, he wanted it for  _ Bucky. _

“Let’s see how you did,” Tony murmured, and when he glanced up, Bucky’s mouth was hanging open and his breathing was slow and deep. He was going under, and he was going under  _ fast. _ “Step back two inches, sweetheart. I want to see what you made for me.”

That was, by far, the filthiest thing Tony had ever said to someone he actually cared about…

But it felt good. It felt right.

When Bucky backed up, he’d leaked so much come that three strings were stretching between the glass and the tip of his cock, and  _ damn _ if it wasn’t dirty, and raunchy, and fucking beautiful.

“Oh my god, pretty boy. Look what you did.” Tony stuck out his tongue, running it over the glass before he’d even processed what he was doing. And holy shit...Tony was there. He was  _ so there! _ He followed the trail until the tip of Bucky’s cock had passed between his lips…

Now, they’d talked about oral sex over those French/Wakandan coconut macaroons, coming up with a stellar analogy who’s origin had absolutely _ nothing _ to do with the intensity of the sugar rush/red wine combo. It went a little something like this: If the two of them  _ happened _ to end up at the dick dealership, they could totally take each other’s cocks out for a test drive, steering them down the quiet neighborhood streets in first gear and testing out the brakes like little old ladies on a Sunday morning drive.

Well, that was  _ not _ what was happening. Not at all.

Tony took as much of him as he could, realizing that he’d never tasted another man’s come, let alone had an abnormally large dick in his mouth. But Tony wanted it ferociously. Wrapping his hands around Bucky’s hips, he pushed him backwards towards the chair, never losing contact as he slid along with him on his knees.

Opening up the throttle, Tony made sure that Bucky  _ and _ his cock landed safely in the center of the black leather cushion before he accelerated onto the freeway, pressing Bucky’s knees as wide as the armrests so Tony could taste even more.

“Oh my god,” Bucky mumbled, and Tony glanced up. His eyes were rolling back in his head, but there was only ecstasy, waves of pleasure rippling up his body as his balls started to tighten.

“No, no, no, baby. You can’t come till I give you your present.” Which Tony, in his sudden frenzy to try deep-throating at 120mph, had stupidly left by the window. It took three seconds to retrieve it, one to place the box into Bucky’s outstretched hands, and two more for Tony to fall back to his knees. “Go ahead, open it. You’re so damn beautiful _...majestic... _ the word ‘worship’ comes to mind...and I want you to have something that makes you feel special.”

He’d said that  _ way _ too fast. Also, it seemed like Tony was the one crossing ‘kneeling’ off his list, not the other way around. But that was okay… This was  _ all _ okay...

Suddenly Bucky looked down at his erection, quickly glancing at Tony’s lips hovering by the tip, then at the box, then back to Tony’s mouth…and his hands started to shake. Tony understood immediately. He didn’t need 20 questions or 2,020 questions to know what Bucky needed.

Gently pushing Bucky’s legs back together, he slowly climbed onto the chair, his knees bracketing Bucky’s thighs. Then, settling onto his lap, he carefully slid his hand along Bucky’s jaw. Full throttle dick was great, but there was something to be said for sweet Sunday drives around the neighborhood too.

“Kissing,” Tony whispered, allowing his weight to ground Bucky. “Kissing is what you need...what I want to give you...what I’d like to share.”

Fact: Tony had never kissed another man. His facial hair had never mingled with another beard. Yared Fleto had been down for the fuck, and  _ just _ the fuck. And the pilot had been all about running the train.

So it was all new when Tony leaned in and rubbed the bottoms of Bucky’s earlobes. “Tell me your color, sweetheart.”

There were tears in Bucky’s eyes when he whispered, “Green,” but they weren’t sad or afraid. Tony knew exactly what they were...

Years upon years of solitude, cruelty and cages, violence without love or warmth...all of them without a single loving kiss…

When Tony pressed their lips together, he knew he was screwed.

The ‘L’ word was a funny thing, triggering a flood of endorphins when you’d only intended on doing a solid for an estranged frenemy and his one-armed Stone Age lover. But now Tony was  _ more _ than a little invested, and Bucky’s mouth was soft, and his tongue was soft, and his hair was soft, and Bucky’s dick was hard, and  _ Tony’s _ dick was hard, and Bucky’s hands found their way around Tony’s back...and nothing about any of it was a test or something to be checked off a list…

It was real.

Like Tony said, he was screwed. And he wasn’t helping the situation by letting Bucky nibble on the tip of his tongue…

Reclaiming his body’s most powerful muscle (it’s a fact, ask Google), Tony leaned back just enough to exclaim, “Present time! Open it, open it, open it!” Bucky smiled, lifting the box off of his dick and giving Tony a very erect reminder about the 11 inches of cock between his thighs.

“Are you sure?” Bucky whispered, playing with the ribbon and copying the motion of Tony’s bow fingering...

Tony was supposed to be the one asking the questions...but right now, he gave  _ himself  _ permission to moan, gasping out, “Oh yeah, I’m absolutely positive.”

And when Bucky  _ finally _ took off the lid, Tony couldn’t help but laugh when his jaw dropped open and he whispered, “Holy shit…”

During one of their s’more-filled campfire dates, Bucky’d let it slip that Steve had nicked a pair of Peggy’s underwear before the Howlies had shipped out, blushing when he’d admitted to fooling around with them a couple times before they’d sadly lost track of them somewhere in Germany. It had been a funny story, shared over a beer next to Bucky’s lake while he’d practiced skipping rocks with his new arm.

“Do you like them?” Tony asked, helping him push back the tissue paper.

Bucky turned pink, his shocked expression saying that never in a million years had he imagined Tony taking that sexy little story to heart. If only Bucky knew that Tony’d spent  _ hours _ picking out the delicate pair of black silk panties, choosing the perfect lace...the style that would look best on Bucky’s ass...and having FRIDAY fly them to Wakanda inside the Mark 47.

Slowly lifting the pretty little things out of the box, Tony dragged them down the center of Bucky’s chest, stopping just above his belly button to make his intentions crystal clear. “I’m going to slide these over your gorgeous ass and make you come while you’re wearing them.” Draping them over Bucky’s cock, Tony stepped backwards off the chair, standing between Bucky’s knees as he rolled his shoulders.

A first orgasm...

Bucky’s dick was pulsing, dripping, and making another perfect mess on the leather. “Beautiful,” Tony whispered before pushing up his tank top...just enough to show Bucky where the arc reactor had been.

If Bucky Barnes was showing Tony who he was, scars and all, then Tony would do the same. The machinery had left a scar that no amount of money or time in Helen Cho’s cradle could get rid of entirely...a place where his sternum had needed extensive reconstruction, where the chest hairs didn’t grow from the raised circle of scarred skin, and where the absence of the power source next to his heart made Tony feel weak.

Without prompting, Bucky leaned forward and stretched out his metal hand, spreading his fingers on top of the void. When they finally made eye contact, Tony felt more understood than he had in years…maybe  _ ever. _

A first exchange of real intimacy…

Leaning into Bucky’s touch, Tony challenged him to hold his weight as he delved deeper, finding the perfect balance between loving and obscene.

“And after we soak the lace with spit and come, I’m going to pose you on the rug and tie back your arms. I want to study  _ every inch _ of you while I sit back and touch my cock.”

Bucky’s mouth dropped open, and Tony slid his thumb inside, feeling the wetness...the heat.

“Are you ready for that, sweetheart?”

The answer was in the way Bucky’s tongue swirled around the tip of Tony’s finger, drawing it in deeper as the mood shifted. The haze in Bucky’s eyes felt like a dark club in Paris: red lights and black shadows, bass reverberating through crooked floorboards, a private corner where they could show each other the true meaning of the word ‘pleasure’.

Slipping the panties over Bucky’s ankles, Tony very quickly found himself nibbling at the undersides of his knees, sucking small bruises into the meat of his inner thighs, and appreciating every moan as he moved higher and higher, pushing the lace just ahead of his mouth.

“Lift up your hips, baby,” he ordered, slowly pulling the panties over Bucky’s ass. And, yes, Tony inhaled when he used his nose to push Bucky’s dick against his stomach, memorizing how he smelled before dropping the thin elastic band over the shaft. It barely held him in place. “Keep your hips right there, pretty boy. If you drop them a fraction of an inch, I’ll make you wait even longer.”

This was a picture that Tony could look at a million times, never getting tired of the details.

Unbuttoning the top button of his jeans, Tony released the zipper because he was about to explode. Then he licked, sucked, and chewed on every inch of those panties until they were soaking wet. And when he sensed that Bucky was about to come, Tony wrapped his hands around his ass and supported  _ his _ weight, enjoying the strain on his shoulders as Bucky pulsed all over his own stomach.

And then the tears did flow, running over Bucky’s cheeks as Tony slowly lowered him down, using Bucky’s shirt to lovingly wipe up the beautiful disaster. Then, without shame, Tony climbed Bucky like a tree.

“Do you feel good, baby?” Tony asked, settling into his lap and licking his tongue across Bucky’s lower lip.

The only reply was a moan, a little chuckle, a tongue returning the favor…

He wanted nothing more than to scoop Bucky up in his arms and carry him to the rug, but that  _ obviously _ wasn’t gonna happen. If Tony wasn’t positive that it would kill the mood, he’d call over a ficus tree and have it do the heavy lifting.

Instead, Tony went with option number two, which was equally appealing.“Crawl for me, Bucky,” he whispered, brushing the damp hair out of his face, appreciating the post-orgasmic haze... “Let me see you on all fours while I wrap my hand around my cock…”

“You sure you don’t want me to take care of that?” Bucky asked, suddenly slipping his metal hand inside Tony’s open fly and giving his dick a little squeeze through his underwear. And it was damn hard to do _...so damn hard... _ but Tony jumped backwards off the chair...

They’d made it past the ‘dick contact threshold’ with flying colors, so maybe they could jump over the ‘punishment wall’.

“No,” Tony said firmly. “I didn’t say you could touch me. Get on your knees,  _ now.” _

Imminent death or infinite pleasure? A roll of the dice…

But the way Bucky slowly slid down to the floor, pushing up his hips as he curved his back over the edge of the chair, said that Tony’d been right to gamble.

“Now put your hands in front of my toes...”

Tony never did know how to quit while he was ahead…

“You are  _ not _ allowed to touch me without permission.” Sliding the balls of his feet onto Bucky’s fingers, he kept his weight on his heels. “I know it was an accident, Bucky, but we still need to do something to make sure you remember next time…”

With those words, Bucky started curving his back, slowly pushing his shoulders and ass towards the ceiling as his belly button dropped towards the floor. Then he hazily looked up into Tony’s eyes, almost slurring when he said, “Please, give me my punishment, Tony...”

Light spankings until his ass was nice and pink... Mixing the heavy cords with the lightness of a feather tickling Bucky’s ass... Holding Tony’s soft cock in his mouth underneath a desk as Tony worked. A pretty, pretty boy, with only Tony’s tongue in the naughtiest of places, begging for his permission to come...

Even though his adrenaline was spiking with the possibilities (and the fact that he’d just fantasized about  _ rimming),  _ Tony was perfectly satisfied with the simplicity of pressure. Maybe someday they’d get there, but today was not that day.

Rocking his weight forward  _ just enough _ to make his displeasure known, Tony calmly said, “Not a punishment, sweetheart. A  _ reminder.” _

Every muscle in Bucky’s back shifted like water as he rolled his hips up and down, his hair falling into his face and getting stuck on his open lips. And suddenly there was nothing else in the room except the motion of Bucky’s ass in his lace panties...

“Kiss them, Bucky. All ten toes.”

Not only did Bucky kiss them, but he licked a little circle on top of each one before sucking them into his mouth, and Tony could just die right now...happily getting his toes sucked.

He was gonna buy Bucky Barnes  _ all _ the presents. If he wanted an English pony from the Queen’s stables, Tony would charter a ship, slip Queen Elizabeth a fat wad of cash, and sail it across the ocean. If Bucky wanted his own Iron Man suit, Tony’d make him one with special blow job access. If Bucky wanted a frittata every morning, Tony would set a daily alarm for the first time in his life. Spoiling Bucky was a wildly primitive urge, yes, but Tony didn’t care if he was shaking his tail feathers around like a peacock busting out a crazy mating dance; this kind of submission was worth anything and everything.

When Tony carefully rocked his weight off of Bucky’s fingers...he instantly missed the feeling of metal and flesh beneath his toes. And when Tony moved him onto the rug, guiding Bucky by his hips and gently pulling on the panties until he’d folded his legs underneath him, Tony was beyond...something. He was just  _ beyond. _

Somehow the wide tooth comb had ended up in his hand, and Bucky was softly moaning as Tony pulled his hair back into a twisted bun, letting a few little pieces escape to curl around his face. Control and chaos. Defined expectations and freedom. There were lots of analogies that Tony could use in this situation, but he was too turned on by the little brown curl looping around Bucky’s ear to get deep. It was hot. Plain and simple. And Tony’s dick was so hard that it was starting to hurt.

Then there was the silk tie…which was  _ beyond _ beyond. Tony ran it back and forth across Bucky’s neck, suggesting a collar where he had no right to put one… And everything inside of him wanted to straddle Bucky’s lap and tie it in a pretty bow, slipping his tongue between Bucky’s lips as he centered it on the back of his neck…

But not today. Not yet...

Kneeling behind him, Tony whispered, “I’m going to tie your arms behind your back with this tie...with  _ my _ tie...and you’re going to pose for me until I’m satisfied.” He kissed the seam on the arm. “What’s your color?”

Before uttering a word, Bucky’s arms were already slipping backwards into position, and Tony was going to pass out...or have a heart attack. Probably both. “Green, Tony. I’m wonderfully green.”

‘Wonderfully green’. God, that was like music to Tony’s ears...

The knot Tony tied just above Bucky’s elbows was barely a knot, just tight enough to pull his shoulder joints backwards, but not tight enough to hurt. Tony wanted Bucky to focus on holding the position as he watched everything that Tony was about to do… They could play with pain later.

When Tony settled back into the chair and finally pulled himself out of his underwear, he said, “Watch how much you turn me on,” before licking his palm and working himself up and down.

The way Bucky’s toes were barely peeking out beneath his gorgeous ass...the way the waistband of the panties was still stretched over the head of his softening cock...seeing those Iron Man helmets wrapped around Bucky’s arms...the way he was holding perfectly still even though he could snap the fabric with one tiny tug…

Needless to say, Tony came in about three minutes, his own mess flowing onto the leather seat and spraying across the wooden floor. And swear to God, Jesus, Venus, Aphrodite, and whoever else was listening, Bucky Barnes’ eyes flicked to those spilled drops as he licked his goddamn lips...  

A first moment of unbridled lust...

“Maybe next time, baby.” Tony chuckled, getting up to give Bucky some five star aftercare, because he wanted there to be a ‘next time’ and a ‘next time’ and a ‘next time’ after that.

  
  
  


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	3. Love: Reality or Construct?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to Chapter 3 of our collaboration for the 2019 Captain America Reverse Big Bang! We will be posting one chapter and one drawing per day through Wednesday, May 22nd. 
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> Please be mindful of the tags: This chapter contains explicit (erotic) content including rimming.
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> Happy reading,
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> Jessie & Lorien :)

 

“Do you miss Pepper?”

Bucky was tiptoeing along the edge of a sheer cliff face, bringing up Tony’s ex-girlfriend in the face of death. It was actually pretty fitting if you thought about it.

Tony did another push-up before telling the sad tale of the world’s longest running rock feud. “I miss Pepper every second of every day, but we’re like David Gilmour and Roger Waters: the music we make together is better than what we compose alone, but we can’t stop fighting long enough to put out a proper Pink Floyd record.”

Bucky nodded, his shiny hair blowing in the Wakandan breeze.

With all the time they’d been spending together since Pantypalooza, Tony had learned that Bucky was the kind of person who didn’t require a lot of words (or an understanding of decade-specific psychedelic analogies) to fully comprehend a complicated back story.

It was nice.

So was sitting outside.

Tony wasn’t the outdoorsy type (never had been, never would be). The only exception being the occasional vacay to the French Riviera to drive his Kereon speedboat at 70mph with the steering wheel in one hand and an enormous piña colada in the other while Jimmy Buffet’s ‘Cheeseburger in Paradise’ blasting out of the speakers. Then the great outdoors were okay. But today, Tony had been lured to an outcropping of rocks on the Mt. Everest of Africa by a certain someone who Tony was maybe a little bit (a lot) obsessed with.

It had been five days since Tony’d helped Bucky figure out that it was safe for Steve to suck his dick, and they were supposed to be ‘working out’, which was idiotic because Bucky looked like he’d eaten the entire WWE roster for breakfast and Tony was old.

Yes, Bucky had fallen asleep in Tony’s arms that magical morning, and yes, Bucky had kissed him on the cheek when they’d woken up a few hours later. And yes, Bucky had waved really, really nicely when he’d taken off for the farm, even looking back a few times before he’d disappeared over the final hilltop like the ending of a good D/s romance. And yes, Tony had felt all warm and fuzzy and...god help him...happy. But later that night, when he’d turned off the light to go to sleep, the ‘shocking’ realization that he was alone had been overwhelming, and Tony’s happy little trees has melted into a Tim Burton forest pretty damn quick.

Thinking that he could keep up with Bucky (even in an endorphin driven fantasy) had been idiotic on Tony’s part. Steve and The Rebellion were gonna show up at some point, accompanied by a swelling John Williams soundtrack, and Tony was gonna end up at the shitty end of a bottle in an exclusive beach resort in Rio de Janeiro, staring at tan asses in neon thongs and paying the karaoke DJ ten grand to let him sing David Lee Roth’s ‘I ain’t got nobody, I’m so sad and lonely’ ten times in a row while he got to work on another margarita. It was the inevitable circle of life (fitting considering the current landscape), except the warthogs and panthers all had legitimate mates, not ones they’d borrowed from the annoyingly righteous King of the Jungle.

Bucky sauntered over on the very edge of the rocks (because he liked living dangerously) and stated the obvious. “You’ve been holding that Plank for five minutes.”

It was true. Tony’s arms felt like Jello.

“I’m trying to impress you.”

Sitting down with his back to the overhang, Buckeroo sighed. “You don’t need to try, Tony.”

There was no follow up compliment, just a silent, dangerous, thoughtful pose with birds that looked like colorful pterodactyls flying all over the place.

Letting himself fall to his belly (rocks were not yoga mats), Tony threw the question right back. “Do you miss Steve?” Why not hear the bad news when he conveniently had a cliff to throw himself over?

Bucky slid his sneakers out until they were on either side of Tony’s elbows (retro Air Jordans, cuz the Buckster was a pimp), leaving only a millimeter of space between them. And the weight of whatever Bucky was about to say was palpable enough to pause Tony’s pity party.

“Steve is…” Drifting off, he sighed, really looking Tony in the eye before he asked, “Can I touch you with my feet when I tell you this?”

“Aren’t you already touching me?” Tony raised his eyebrows, because a millimeter was about as close as you could get…

“No…”

Scene or not, Bucky was asking for permission, and suddenly Tony had a little surge of hope that he’d get to stare at Bucky’s ass in a neon ‘thong th’ thong thong thong’. Was Tony an asshole for thinking that? Magic Eight Ball says…drumroll please….‘All signs point to yes’.   

The Magic Eight Ball also copped an attitude and said ‘Stop dreaming, idiot’.

They hadn’t done another scene since The Burning Panty Festival, but Bucky had shown up four out of five nights with baskets of fruit and eggs, stories about goats, an assortment of sarongs (they really were comfortable), and once with a huge praying mantis because he’d figured Tony’d think it was cool (he’d been right). They’d cuddled under blankets, properly chopped tomatoes together, read books side by side on the couch, and for the past two nights, Bucky’d fallen asleep in Tony’s bed. But they hadn’t talked about Bucky’s list...and they hadn’t dialed up Spicoli for another conference call.

All of this was good...

But this morning, Tony had woken up annoyed. Gorgeous sunrise? He’d seen better. Sleeping through the night without waking up in a cold sweat? Happened all the time. Bucky brewing coffee and bringing it to Tony in bed? No better than an overcrowded Starbucks on the Upper East Side. Waking up with Bucky Barnes’ toes tucked between Tony’s calves…

Whatever.

The two of them were dancing on the edge of something (as Bucky was helpfully illustrating), and they’d been doing a shit job talking about it.

“If you’re gonna be a dick about my feet, can I put my head in your lap instead?”

Tony squished up his face, not even trying to hide his annoyance when he looked up at Bucky’s stupidly gorgeous beard. “What? So you can be more comfortable when you tell me a rousing tale about the great and powerful Captain America? Because, I don’t know, Bucky. It’s hard for me to listen to a story when the hero isn’t even part of the mother fucking plot!”

The instant the words came out of his mouth, Tony regretted them.

Pinching his eyebrows together, Bucky half-chuckled/half-scoffed as he stood up, putting his Air Jordans right under Tony’s nose. And yeah, maybe he shouldn’t have let his jealous asshole show so close to a hundred foot drop?

Tony was sure Bucky was gonna use his shiny new arm to do something spectacularly violent (not really), but instead he gingerly picked up a wee little pebble, walked over to the rock face, and used it to draw what kind of looked like a swing set...but could’ve been a headless horse with two hernias (Tony sucked at Stone Age Pictionary).

“Is this an illustrated story about Steve? Because that’s even worse.”

Once Tony unleashed the asshole, it was hard to shove him back into the cage.

Bucky started adding...spikes?...underneath. Chopsticks? Spaghetti noodles laid out on a table by a person with severe OCD?

“Is that supposed to be grass? ‘Cause if it is, you should draw Steve pissing all over it to really drive the point home.” Tony stood up, stomping his feet a few times for added effect, because there was no way in hell that he was gonna take this bullshit lying down. “Remember, I designed your boyfriend’s uniform, so I know he’s a size 12. You don’t have to sell him short in your prehistoric caveman illustration just to make me feel better.”

Buildings started appearing, and Tony recognized one as the Empire State Building because Bucky had written ‘Empire State Building’ above it and added an arrow. Then Bucky drew something that could, if a person were drunk enough, look like the Brooklyn Bridge. Sadly, Tony was _not_ drunk enough...

When Bucky dropped the rock and turned around, Tony crossed his arms over his chest.

“It’s funny that you made such a big deal about me and Steve acting like assholes,” Bucky snapped, “because you, Tony Stark, are an asshole extraordinaire.”

“Takes one to know one.”

“You’re also a five-year-old.”

“I’m not the one drawing swing sets that look like conjoined twins attached at the head, bending over with their saggy tits hanging down!”

Swinging his head around, Bucky squinted at his drawing, his eyes getting wider and wider the closer he looked. Then he laughed...loudly...obnoxiously...happily?

“You wouldn’t laugh if you were in their situation! They’ve been to every surgeon on the planet and nobody can separate them!”

“Oh my god, Tony.” Bucky ran his fingers through his freshly washed hair (dammit!), letting them get stuck in the waves so Tony got the full view of his sculpted arms (metal and flesh) as he held the gorgeous pose (double dammit!). “Is this how you’re gonna act every time we have a misunderstanding?”

That was an interesting sentence for several reasons, but the words ‘every time’ and ‘misunderstanding’ were a good place to start. So was the soft look on Bucky’s face as he turned to peer over the ledge at the miles and miles of green stuff.

“I swear to god...”

It appeared that Bucky was talking to Wakandan Jesus (a panther shaped savior who always took her daily meditative walks along the top of the canopy).

“Why do I always fall for such stubborn little shits?”

Tony dropped his arms to his sides because he was an asshole and a fool...

“Are you gonna let me put my head in your fucking lap or not?” he asked, throwing the wee little pebble off the edge off the cliff with a surprising amount of force (he should’ve been a pitcher). “I could really use your support when I open up about my feelings for you and Steve.” Now it was Bucky’s turn to cross his arms over his chest.

Bucky’d said that sentence nice and slow, accentuating every syllable like Tony was actually in kindergarten, which at this particular moment in time, he totally was. Tossing the rest of his salt over the ledge to search for Bucky’s pebble, Tony very quickly found himself sitting on a soft patch of moss underneath Bucky’s ‘artwork’, petting the squeaky-clean goat farmer’s pretty hair.

“Sometimes Steve feels like my favorite swing from when I was a kid,” Bucky began, bending his legs at the knees. “Before they built the playgrounds in Prospect Park...around ‘37 or ‘38, I think...the only playground close enough for me to walk to with my little sister was the shitty one on the corner of Bedford Ave and Linden...or maybe it was at Linden and Flatbush…” Bucky closed his eyes. “Some days I can picture it behind St. Michael’s in the shadow of the steeple...and others I question if the church had a steeple at all. The point is, I don’t remember for sure.”

A little sister? Talking about 1937 like it wasn’t 80 years ago? Tony started petting Bucky’s right eyebrow like it was a fuzzy caterpillar. Caterpillars helped combat depression.

“Shitty or not, there was this one particular swing that was always my favorite. I loved it when I was five...eight...13…” Bucky swallowed. _“18...”_

Tony started stroking both eyebrows.

“It was in the perfect spot. When I swung high enough, I’d catch little glimpses of the towers of the Brooklyn Bridge and the top of the Empire State Building. I loved that view.” Bucky pointed at his drawing. “It looked exactly like that.”

Tony raised his caterpillars.

Squinting up at the conjoined twins, Bucky turned his head just enough to mush his nose against Tony’s thigh, sighing before he continued. “And sure, that old swing hung a little crooked, and the rusted chains squeaked like a son of a bitch, but, for some reason, it always swung the highest. I liked scaring the crap out of Becca by pumping my legs as hard as I could, getting the swing to the point where I was in danger of falling off backwards, then jumping off to see if I could stick the landing. She always yelled at me afterwards, but I’m pretty sure she loved it. I’m pretty sure that swing made me happy.”

Bucky sighed, his smushed nose migrating towards Tony’s crotch.

“Like I said,” he muttered, his words kinda vibrating against Tony’s nuts, “I think I remember where the swing used to be, and there’s a vague recollection of the way the squeak sounded, but it’s all fuzzy around the edges. Were there two other swings, or three? Did I land more times than I fell? Did Becca like spinning on the merry-go-round or sliding down the slide? Was there a merry-go-round at all?”

After planting an actual kiss on Tony’s left nut, Bucky’s face reappeared, his forehead squishing into three rows of deep wrinkles as he gave Tony a sad little smile. In Tony’s opinion, it was three wrinkles too many.

“Ever since Shuri pulled me out of the freezer, I’ve been trying to figure out so many things, attempting to mesh the old with the new. And the longer I’m awake, the more I’m figuring out that there’s a difference between feeling nostalgic and truly missing something. Yeah, there’s something missing in my life...in my fucking soul...but the crystal clear version of Steve is so far in the past that I don’t fully understand what I’m missing. Does that make sense?”

Tony nodded, because somewhere underneath that heaping mountain of analogy was a pretty good description of love and loss. “Does Steve know that he’s your squeaky swing from days of yore?”

“Yeah. I don’t hide anything from him anymore. That’s another thing I’ve chosen to leave in the past. And it’s hard for him to admit, because of his own unachievable expectations, but I know he’s in a similar place.”

Pressing the soles of his sneakers against the rocks, Bucky wiggled closer, smashing the top of his head against Tony’s totally average abs.

“Think about it,” he said, reaching up to play with Tony’s chin hairs, “I’ve spent more time with you these past six weeks than I have with Steve in the past 74 years! And it’s not his fault. Shit’s always fucked up, and I told him not to come. I’m not ready for him to be here. I’m scared I’m gonna disappoint him. I’m scared I’m gonna snap. And most of all, I’m scared that he’s so goddamn dedicated to loving a memory and so full of fucking guilt, that he’d be too sweet to admit that he’s outgrown the playground altogether.”

That right there was Steve Rogers in a nutshell, and Tony suddenly had the sneaking suspicion that Bucky had aspirations to be a psychiatrist.

“So if Steve’s the swing, does that make you the slide?” Tony asked, thoroughly enjoying his chin rub. Much like caterpillar stroking, it helped with the sadness.

“Maybe back then,” Bucky replied, expanding his grip and spreading the love to Tony’s well-groomed jawline. “Nowadays I think I’m more like a teeter-totter.”

“They don’t have those anymore. Too dangerous. Lots of smashed noggins and youthful balls crushed before their time.”

“Exactly.”

It was funny when preconceived notions about a person, place, or thing turn out to be complete and utter bullshit. Or maybe it was just sad that you had the wrong idea in the first place. Bucky Barnes was perhaps the most upfront person Tony’d ever met, and watching him tear up was hard. “I’m going to stroke your caterpillars some more,” Tony said, getting his thumbs into position. “It’s gonna make both of us feel better.”

“About my smashed noggin?”

“No, dipshit, about your squeaky swing!”

When Bucky snorted, it wasn’t cute or subtle. It was completely obnoxious. Pig-like, if you will. But when he snorted again, almost choking on his own spit, Tony couldn’t help but snort too.

All posturing aside, even acting like one of his dirty pigs, Bucky was fucking adorable.

Suddenly Bucky reached up, playing with the collar of Tony’s t-shirt as he said, “I really like you, Tony. Like, a lot. When Shuri broke the news that you’d agreed to come here, I was just hoping we could find some common ground...maybe have a civil working relationship...but you’re…”

Bucky swallowed, and Tony was almost scared to hear the rest, scared to hope...

“Let’s just say you’ve been something...unexpected.”

Tony’s asshole brain wanted to say ‘ditto, ‘cause lemme tell ya, I never expected to put your cock in my mouth either’, but, thankfully, his heart shut off his neurological defense mechanisms. Without moving, Tony whispered, “So what are you saying?”

“I’m saying that I’d like us to be more.”

More bubble baths. More fruit. More questionable dancing. More coconut macaroons...

The drawing of the squeaky swing was looming over Tony’s shoulder, and even though Bucky was sweetly tugging on Tony’s collar, it wasn’t enough to stop him from saying, “We have to talk to Steve…”

“No, we don’t.

Bucky’d said it quickly. Factually. Definitively. Tony had no idea what to make of it.

“One of the greatest gifts Steve has ever given me was respecting my choices...even if it was hard or it hurt. But I’m telling you, Tony, I don’t think this is gonna be either of those things. I’m not choosing you over him, I’m choosing to ask you to join our journey...or for him to join ours.” Bucky smiled up at him, and Tony melted like butter: sticky, gooey butter in the hot summer sun, or some other bullshit analogy that expressed how far gone Tony was for this man. “This isn’t a competition. I love Steve. I want to try again with him eventually...in whatever form or configuration that might take...but Steve’s never expected me to ask for his permission to do anything, and I know for a fact he wouldn’t want me to start now.

“Plus,” Bucky added, sneaking his right hand underneath Tony’s t-shirt and messing with his chest hair for a change, “Steve has a real soft spot for you.”

Sliding backwards, Tony gently lowered Bucky’s head onto the conveniently placed moss. “I didn’t even know you were capable of saying that many words in a row, Buckyboo. That was like five paragraphs straight out of an overblown romance novel. You know, the kind that bored housewives read when their husbands run off to play Fantasy Football at the bar. Which begs the question: Have you been hanging out with Fabio on the weekend too?”  

_“Nooo,”_ Bucky drawled, curiously watching Tony stalk him like a panther (when in Rome…), “I’ve been too busy hanging out with this really cool guy with pretty brown eyes to mingle with damsels in distress and muscular blond dudes dressed in pirate shirts.”

In the olden days (pre-Bucky), Tony would have said ‘don’t lie, I know you and Steve used to role play. Where did you stash his pirate hat?’, but this wasn’t the olden days.

This was a Renaissance…

A bright new day on a mother fucking ledge…

Crawling on top of his second chance, Tony covered Bucky’s body with his own before whispering, “I’m impressed that you know who Fabio is...”

“I’m impressed that you haven’t asked to kiss me yet.”

Tony didn’t have to be asked twice.

Relishing the feeling of being wanted, Tony brushed Bucky’s hair away from his face and pressed their lips together, relishing the feeling of wanting Bucky.

***

  
Tony stared into the bathroom mirror at the little grey hairs infiltrating his goatee, fighting the urge to pluck out every single one. But they weren’t the only thing pissing him off. The distinguished hints of silver at his temples looked just like Howard’s had once upon a time, the crow’s feet in the corners of his eyes needed a little (or a big) nip and tuck, the arthritis in his left wrist was acting up, and his balls were sagging.

Tony scoffed: at himself...at his saggy nuts...at his stupid brain.

He knew exactly what the fucking problem was. It wasn’t complex. In fact, it was shockingly basic. Yesterday, over waffles and Coco Puffs (yes, they had those in Wakanda), Bucky had brought up the topic of flying to parts unknown to pay a visit to an obnoxiously virile pothead (whose balls were most certainly still high and tight), and just like that, every grey hair had become Tony’s mortal enemy.

Bigger, stronger, faster, blonder...Steve was like the six million dollar man without the actual cash. And sure, Tony had the dolla dolla bills (13 billion if you wanted to compare dick size), but he also had grey hair and an ulcer.

Bucky was waiting for him, a medium-sized box with a simple black ribbon laying beside him on the bed, because tonight was supposed to be special. They had big plans to go ‘all the way’ after Senior Prom, and Tony was having flashbacks to the prom he never attended. The sweaty palms...the big zit in the middle of his forehead (not really)...the lecture from Jarvis about safe sex,, and the swarm of bumble bees buzzing around in his ulcerated stomach (Tony was 100% over dragonflies too) that came with popping cherries after listening to a shitty cover band play a 15 minute version of ‘Stairway to Heaven’...

Or maybe that had just been Tony’s imaginary prom.

But that wasn’t the only thing that had Tony’s knickers in a twist. Nope. The memory of the blond, bearded wonder shooting Tony knowing looks through his stupid sunglasses during their last video chat was also working double time to stir up the bees...

Jesus! It was just sex: a dick in a hole. Except that it wasn’t...it wasn’t that at all.

“Babe, c’mon…” Bucky hollered. “Stop makin’ me wait. Just looking at this box has got me squirming.”

Tony wanted to chuckle, because he did love making Bucky wait. It was one of their things (because they had things now): wait to be touched, wait to touch Tony, wait to come…

But there was nothing funny about this particular waiting room situation. The idea that one of Tony’s many demons had shown up uninvited, parked his flaming red ass on the cheap leather couch, and was reading six-month-old issues of US Weekly while he planted seeds that grey pubes and ageless super soldiers didn’t mix was messed up, plain and simple. As Tony stared at all 11,241 grey hairs, the demon got cheeky, whispering in Tony’s ear that he was gonna have to buy a brown merkin if he was gonna keep up the charade.

The door opened a crack behind him, and Bucky slipped inside, not even trying to hide the fact that he’d been doing a little prep work for the scene (his Adidas track pants were tented straight out). He was wearing a sweatshirt (with the hood up) that said ‘beards are the new six-pack’, which, considering the actual 12-pack underneath, was either a blatant misunderstanding or brilliantly ironic. Real talk: Bucky looked more like a broke college student who listened to too much Pearl Jam and ate ramen noodles three meals a day than one of the most powerful human beings on the planet. But Tony liked Eddie Vedder, and he’d missed out on dorm life, so stupid sweatshirts and cheap noodles were pretty awesome in his opinion.

Eyeing Bucky’s big tent through the mirror, Tony muttered, “I didn’t give you permission to pregame, Bucky Boo. If you devour all the cocktail weenies in the crockpot before kickoff, what’s gonna be left for the rest of us? Stale pretzels?”

“Well, maybe I’ll just have to eat your cocktail weenie.”

Tony scrunched up his face for obvious reasons. “First of all, gross. Secondly, thanks for saying I have a small dick.”

Pushing down his hood, Bucky’s hair exploded like a Troll doll. Pink. Poofy. Ready to party. But despite his ridiculous (aka adorable) hair, Bucky looked all earnest when he said, “You know that’s not what I meant.”

Tony turned the faucet on full blast, making a point of splashing water halfway up the mirror, all over the marble countertop, and all over himself. “Your cartoon hair is giving me a burning desire to sing ‘Can’t Stop the Feeling’, which, in my humble opinion, is where Timberlake jumped the shark...”

“You’re freaking out,” Bucky stated, factual as factual could be.

Tony wasn’t gonna deny it, but he sure as hell wasn’t gonna admit it either...so he went with option number three: splashing copious amounts of water onto his face. He gave his salt and pepper goatee a good deluge, splashing, and splashing, and splashing some more, until his ‘distinguished’ hair and grey henley were soaking wet.

Five seconds of vertical drowning was all it took for Bucky to hug him from behind, his great and powerful arms squeezing Tony’s 2-pack abs with all their might. Tony’s demon didn’t like hugs; he thought they were stupid. Childish. Lame. Tony shoved his hands into the torrential flow, staring at his distinctive lack of rings. It was cold, and Tony had age-spots.

Ignoring the drama (Geysers! Waterfalls! Dams breaking! Waterspouts!), Bucky looped his chin over Tony’s wet shoulder like a wiggly beagle puppy, attempting to use his irresistible puppy eyes to defeat Tony’s demon.

“We look good together, don’t you think?” Snoopy asked, smushing their cheeks together.

“It looks like I catfished you with a picture of Steve on Grindr and you were too horny to turn me down. Then you stayed out of pity...”

“That’s stupid. I stayed for the money…”

Bucky snaked his arms underneath Tony’s shirt, locking his hands together just above Tony’s belly button. He was about to say something beagle sweet. Tony could tell.

“Even if we leave Wakanda, that doesn’t mean it can’t still _feel_ like we’re in Wakanda.”

God he was intuitive.

The sink was half an inch from overflowing, and Tony couldn’t feel his hands, so as much as he appreciated the dramatic effect of a good tsunami, he reluctantly shut it off. But Bucky’s beagle impersonation, much like the Energizer Bunny, kept right on going...and going...and going...

Catching Tony’s shirt between his teeth, Bucky tugged on the shoulder seam before chewing his way up to Tony’s neck. “You’re so fucking sexy,” he murmured, planting a slobbery kiss on Tony’s earlobe (not really, but Tony was ass deep in this beagle thing). “I’d swipe right for those soulful brown eyes so damn fast, you don’t even know.” Hooking his thumbs on the waistband of Tony’s pants, Bucky went for broke and pressed his bratwurst against Tony’s ass. “But that’s not why I’m here.”

“In the bathroom? If you’ve gotta pee, I can step out...”

“No, dumbass, with you.” Bucky rolled his eyes. “You drive me batshit crazy in all the right ways, and I fucking love us together. If we decide to visit Steve and figure out how he’s gonna fit into our relationship, it’s not gonna change that.”

Tony looked at the picture in the reflection: Bucky draped over his shoulder, quirking up the corner of his lips with the warmest expression, and let that declaration soak in for a second. In the three weeks since their heart to heart on the ledge, many words had slipped out that had danced around the big three: ‘you mean so much to me’, ‘I love waking up next to you’, ‘I love the way you suck my dick’, ‘I love the way you make me feel’, ‘I love your breakfast burritos’, but not ‘I love you’ followed by a period. The last person who’d said that to Tony had been Pepper...and before that...his mother. And if that wasn’t a son-of-a-bitch, Tony didn’t know what was.

There was no reason to lie (except the soul crushing fear of rejection), so Tony dredged up some courage from somewhere, pressing backwards into Bucky’s kielbasa hold and whispering, “I don’t want to lose you.”

The demon casually flipped the page to an article about Kim K’s ever-expanding ass and snickered like a mother fucker.

Softly kissing Tony’s temple (sans puppy slobber), Bucky said, “I’m not going anywhere,” before pulling Tony’s grey shirt over his head and placing his metal hand over Tony’s scar. It had become their special signal, done at the beginning or end of a scene, in the middle of the night when they were both trying their damndest to calm down after another bad dream, or even when Bucky’d broached the subject of possibly seeing Steve in the first place. But this time it felt...electrical, like Bucky could stop his heart with one emotional _zap._

Bucky took a deep breath, looking directly into Tony’s eyes through the mirror, “I’m not going anywhere, Tony...because I love you.”

_Zap._

“You see me for who I am, and I’m pretty damn sure that you let me see you for who you are too. I know we’re both completely fucked up, but I think we’re happy together. I mean, I know I’m happy…”

_Zap._

“And I’m not just talking about our sex life, which, by the way, is fucking unbelievable. I’m talking about standing across the room from you, watching you talking to Okoye or T’Challa about stuff that’s way over my head and knowing that I’m yours. God, Tony, it’s…” Using his index finger, Bucky traced the scar. “It’s...you. I want to be with you.”

_Zap!_

Yeah, Tony was having a heart attack. Cardiac arrest was imminent.

“And if we decide that Steve fits into this, then so be it. But I’m in love with you, Tony Stark. Got it?”

Tossing his US Weekly aside, the demon curled his lips before he made Tony say, “Is Steve’s dick really so big that you’re worried about him fitting? I mean, if he fit in there 74 years ago...”

“Okay, that’s it.” Standing straight up, Bucky practically dragged Tony through the door (meaning he totally dragged Tony through the door). “I want to open my present, now, so get your shit together and accept my undying love and affection. Or else.”

Tony was playfully knocked backwards onto the bed, which had the wonderful side-effect of knocking the demon flat on his ass, the issue about Brad and Angie’s messy divorce fluttering to the floor.

“Or else what?” Tony asked when his heart started beating again.

“Or else, I’ll punish you for a change.” Bucky’s messy hair fell into his face as he crawled over Tony’s body, licking his lips as he got closer and closer... “Maybe I’ll start with spanking that cute little duck butt of yours?”

Rolling his hips, Bucky rubbed his sausage all over Tony’s cocktail weenie before sliding back down to lick a long line across Tony’s collar bones. Tony watched his back flex as his hips rolled, Bucky’s entire body shifting gears when he murmured, “I need you, Tony. Please…”

The ‘L’ word: l’amour, Liebe, liefde, láska...

It had been a long time since that word had floated around in Tony’s atmosphere without conditions or overwhelming expectations attached to it, but right now, that single syllable was present in every pulse of Bucky’s body. Tony could feel the beat of it when Bucky dragged the tip of his nose around the circle of the scar, and he could definitely feel it when Bucky rubbed his erection against Tony’s inner thigh. But best of all, Tony could practically hear the word buried in Bucky’s moans when Tony lightly touched his ass…

It was sex, pure and blissful, but it was also the ‘L’ word, and it would be so stupid not to tell him.

“Bucky, sweetheart. Look at me.”

The motion stopped mid-thrust, Bucky’s head snapping up immediately. It was now or never...

“I l’amour you too. FYI...I added the ‘L’ for effect. ‘Amour’ doesn’t fit my theme.”

The initial reaction was squinty eyes, followed by one slightly amused eyebrow. Not stellar. Tony tried again.

“I liebe you, Bucky. Like, a lot. I liebe you like crazy.”

“I don’t speak German.”

“If you don’t speak German, then how would you know that I just spoke German? Hmm?”

Bucky laughed, and the happiness of his smile made Tony so goddamn certain about everything. He was gonna tell him...in English.

Returning the smile, Tony said, “Je t’aime plus chaque jour.”

Dammit.

Wiggling his hips between Tony’s legs (because he was a little shit), Bucky chuckled. “I never did like Paris, but I love you more every day too.”

“Is that what I said?” Tony replied with all the innocence he could muster before planting a Parisian kiss on the tip of Bucky’s American nose. “I could’ve sworn I said ‘I’m a stupid tourist, where’s the Eiffel Tower?’ And how can you not like Paris!? It’s the city of dragoste!”

“Romanian? Really?”

“I’ll have you know, Dracula is very romantic. When Gary Oldman died, hearts broke all across Transylvania.”

Blinking nice and slow, Bucky gave Tony a few thrusts behind his balls. And Tony let him, the pressure from Bucky’s weight making him hard almost immediately. Dragoste indeed.

“Can I please have my present now?”

Bucky’s expression had that Vlad mystique...sensual...steamy...dangerous (in the good way)...and Tony suddenly found his ankles locked behind Dracula’s as his metal arm slid around his waist. It wasn’t slow or soft when Bucky flipped them, Tony’s ass landing directly on top of Vlad’s impaler. It was hot as fuck.

“Oh my god, are you trying to impale me with your dick?”

“No, Tony, I’m trying to get you to impale me with yours.”

Everything stopped. A wide open pause where Tony centered himself...a moment to breath while their desires aligned...

 Sliding back to sit on Bucky’s thighs, Tony straightened his shoulders and took a deep breath. This was it. This was the moment. “Then tell me your color, mon amour.”

“Since we’re pretending to be French, my color is vert, ma petite baguette.”

Tony chuckled. “Did you just call me a small loaf of bread?”

“Yes. Crusty on the outside and warm and soft on the inside. I also told you I’m green, so give me my fucking present.”

Sooo naughty…

Since Bucky was in such a rush, Tony decided to take things slow, stretching out the anticipation of what was about to happen in the most delicious way possible.

Bucky’s clothes were staying on, and Tony’s clothes were coming off.

Crawling backwards, Tony gave his first order, and it was a good one. “Center yourself on the mattress and put the box on your stomach, right above your cock.”

The order was followed immediately...perfectly...and Tony waited a beat before he said, “Good. Now I want you to watch.”

Standing at the foot of the bed, he popped the button on his fly, taking his time pulling down the zipper. Slow was the name of the game, and gauging by the way Bucky’s stomach was expanding and contracting, making the present move up and down with each and every breath, it was definitely a game that Bucky wanted to play.

Ever since Tony’s eye-opening sexual awakening (sex swings at 16, anybody?), he’d always favored pulling his dick out of his pants for a submissive to swallow or stroke and dropping his pants low on his hips to fuck. There’d been only one exception to this rule...and now, there was about to be another.

Sure, Tony had wrapped his arms around Bucky’s naked body when they’d fallen asleep, but he’d always worn his signature pajama pants/tank top combo. And while Bucky had no qualms about strutting around buck naked when he was changing his clothes or getting ready to hop in the shower, Tony’d always done those things behind closed doors.

So this, right now, was a thing.

Tony let his pants fall first, revealing things that Bucky’d never seen. The mole on his thigh that he’d put off getting removed for the past 30 years, his surprisingly hairy legs (especially around his knees, for whatever reason), and the ugly purple scars that criss-crossed his shins and ankles…

Kicking his pants to the side, Tony took a few steps backwards. “Lift your head, baby…” he began, trying his best to be brave… “I want you to see me…”

He’d never be able to talk about what had happened in that cave, but he still wanted Bucky to know the marks were there...  

Liebe.

Tony closed his eyes, remembering the burning pain…

Liebe meant loving a person’s scars, no matter how deep they ran. Tony may have been lucky enough to keep all four limbs, but that didn’t mean he was any less damaged.

He was tempted to stretch out his arms.

When Tony felt strong enough to look, Bucky was peering at him over the rectangular box, smiling like the world’s sweetest, sexiest Troll. His cookies and cream grin was an entirely different kind of gift...one worth more than diamonds and gold. It was the kind of gift that made it possible for Tony to slide his underwear down to his ankles and stand before Bucky completely naked.

In life, there are those rare moments that you’ll always remember... Milestones that stand out above all the rest... Deceptively simple events that steer you in brand new directions… People whose presence can change you completely...

Standing here, exposed and honest, Tony knew that he was a changed man.

It was so easy to walk back to the bed, and it felt natural to run his palms across the bottoms of Bucky’s feet: applying gentle pressure, flexing the soles to stretch out his calf muscles, and rubbing the skin to make sure they were nice and warm. Tony needed Bucky to be nice and limber for what came next. “Bend your knees and lift up your ass, baby,” he said with more than a little fondness. “And don’t you dare let that present fall.”

Bucky added lots of extra sizzle as he rolled his body upwards, pushing through his heels and shoulders to arch his spine. “Beautiful,” Tony whispered, walking around to take in the view from the side. Even with the distinctive aura of a broke college student, Bucky was art. Sculpt him, paint him, turn his pose into an abstract collage, get weird and create an interactive video installation...it didn’t matter. The way he was balancing the box on top of his 12-pack abs, the corners floating in the air, was the perfect muse no matter what the media. “You’re so, so beautiful, baby...” Tony said, biting the inside of his cheek before he added the pièce de résistance. Carefully slipping the bottom of Bucky’s sweatshirt out from underneath the box, Tony pushed up the hem, exposing Bucky’s belly button, the musculature of his stomach, the outline of his ribcage, and finally...his nipples. Intentionally bunching up the fabric just above those sensitive little spots, Tony left them exposed to the air as he rebalanced the box directly on Bucky’s skin. “Now hold it.”

Tony counted to ten inside his head, letting Bucky wonder...letting him wait...letting him anticipate what might come next...

The idea was simple, but the execution wouldn’t be. It would push Bucky. Make him work hard. Challenge him. God, Tony couldn’t wait to see him succeed…

After running his fingers down the center of his own chest, Tony held his half hard cock in his hand, squeezing it a little, contemplating if it was up to the job. In the end, he just wanted to make Bucky feel good…

“I’m going to climb onto the bed with you…” Tony said with nothing but confidence. “And you’re going to stay just...like...that…”

Except for a soft moan when the mattress dipped from Tony’s weight, Bucky didn’t make a sound...and when Tony flipped onto his back so he could slide his head underneath Bucky’s bridge, he didn’t move an inch. The sweatpants had gotten caught in the crack of Bucky’s ass when he’d squeezed his muscles to push himself up into position, and Tony very slowly, very carefully, reached up to press the fabric even deeper with the tip of his finger.

It would be a fair assessment to say that Tony’d been too fucked up the other times he’d done this with a man to really remember how point A had led to Point B (hopefully he hadn’t hurt Harod Tornado). And sure, he’d gone there with quite a few ladies (quite a few times), but this felt completely different. Maybe it was because this wasn’t the bullshit ‘just lemme stick in the tip’ approach (Public Service Announcement: It was never ‘just the tip’), or a cocaine-fueled romp with yet another gold digging Iron Man groupie... This was making dragoste to Bucky Barnes.

Starting at the little triangle at the top of Bucky’s ass, Tony dragged his finger down the crack, adding a little extra pressure when he felt the place where he was heading if all went to plan. One tiny push made Bucky’s hips falter slightly, but the moan accompanying the motion said it was from pleasure and nothing else. It was wonderful knowing Bucky’s tells.

Removing his hand completely, Tony licked his lips before making the correction. “No, sweetheart,” he said firmly. “Push back up, or I stop. I want to touch you there...more than anything...but you have to be a good boy if you want to feel my tongue. Do you understand?”

Oh yeah, Tony was going there. And oddly enough, despite their whole ‘mortal enemies/superhero drama’ past, it seemed like sticking his tongue in Bucky’s ass was the most natural progression in the world.  

When Bucky’s hips shifted back into place, Tony could honestly say that he’d never smiled so wide at an ass. “How’d I get so lucky?” he murmured, hooking the waistband with his fingers and adding some downward resistance to the backbend. “Pretty...obedient…strong.” Tony pulled harder. “And you listen so well...”

A moan… The muscles in Bucky’s ass relaxing even as the rest of him started quivering… The blood in Tony’s dick pumping so hard that he was flush with his stomach...

It was shocking how much Tony’s mouth started watering as he pulled the fabric little by little out of Bucky’s crack, each tiny tug making Tony want to lick, and suck, and finger, and fuck… In fact, after he’d slowly worked Bucky’s sweats down to his knees, he was so turned on that he was tempted to pull them back up and do it all again.

But the sounds Bucky was making said that he was enjoying them right where they were, and that was the biggest turn-on of them all...

From this angle, Tony could watch the little hairs on the backs of Bucky’s thighs moving with his breath, study the shadow Bucky’s balls were casting between his legs (unexpected kink number 27), and observe the nearly imperceptible vibration in his hamstrings…

“I’m going to lick you now, sweetheart…see if you like the feeling of my tongue on your beautiful ass, but first, what’s you color?”

This would be the first time that Tony touched Bucky’s ass, like really, really touched it in the flesh, and double checking, maybe triple checking, was in order.

“Green. I’m green, Tony. Oh my god.”

No lie, it felt like Tony was on the starting line of the race track in Monaco, revving the engine of his Audi r8 spyder as the lights flashed from red to yellow to green. Tony’s adrenaline surged as he pushed up onto his elbows and rubbed his nose back and forth against Bucky’s soft skin, waiting for a moan, a sigh, a confirmation...and when he got all three, Tony slowly dragged his tongue all the way from Bucky’s tailbone down to a particularly delicious spot just below his right cheek. It would be an understatement to say that Tony was licking Bucky’s booty like a lollipop....

And just that little taste...fuck. He’d hit 60 mph in 3.2 seconds...and still, he wanted more.

“Keep your present balanced and lower yourself onto my face. Slowly, sweetheart. Show me where you want my tongue.”

“Oh, fuck…”

Tony stopped. As hard as it was...he did. “Bucky…”

“I’m sorry, fuck…” he gasped out, relaxing his muscles so Tony could see even more of what was hiding in the shadows. “I meant, yes, Tony.”

The Audi’s top speed, according to the stats, was over 200 mph. The fastest Tony’d ever gone had been 158 at Watkins Glen in upstate New York (on a dare from Rhodey), which wasn’t even close to maxing out. But when he murmured, “Good, baby, don’t forget again,” Tony buried the fucking needle.

Bucky’d dropped lower and lower, the pose becoming more and more impossible with each passing second, until he’d shown Tony exactly where he’d wanted to be licked, and how deeply he liked Tony to press in his tongue.

Rimming. It was his new favorite thing.

After one last nibble, Tony said goodbye to his new friend (yes, he was talking about Bucky’s asshole) and wriggled out from under his blissed out…

Holy shit.

Tony stood up, stepping over Bucky’s arched legs until their thighs were touching. Was Bucky his fucking boyfriend? Considering that he was currently staring at Bucky’s 11 inch cock, the fact that Tony was only thinking about this now was more than hilarious.  

But labels and comedy aside, the way Bucky’s erection was sticking straight up at the ceiling, the shaft rubbing against the bottom edge of the box, had to be one of the hottest things Tony’d ever seen. And it only made things hotter that every muscle in Bucky’s body was twitching, and Tony could hear the metal plates shifting as they adjusted to absorb more and more of the pressure.

Yeah, Tony’s intuitive programming was the bomb.

But the important thing was Bucky’s expression, and his slightly parted lips and hazy eyes told Tony that he could take more...that he wanted more. Stretching out his arms, Tony let his hands hover about four inches above the box, making sure he didn’t bump into Bucky’s dick when he set the bar...

“If you want your present, Bucky, I need you to push it up into my hands. Can you do that for me, pretty boy?”

Ever so slowly, Bucky inched his feet backwards to get the height he needed; his shoulders pressing together, metal meeting bone in the middle as he bent his spine into an almost impossible curve. But he fucking did it! The arteries in his groin pulsing from the effort as he pushed the edges of the box into Tony’s waiting hands…

“That was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen...”

Tony didn’t have to say anything else. That had said it all.

Lightly tossing the box to the side (for just a second), Tony firmly wrapped his hand around the base of Bucky’s cock, holding him in position. “You’ve been so good for me, baby. So good. Now, lower yourself, nice and slow, so I can spoil you.”

Tony relaxed his grip, but he didn’t let go, holding Bucky’s dick just hard enough that pulling it free took careful effort would take effort and concentration. Inch by inch, Bucky moved, moaning as he went, and after he’d succeeded, Tony wasn’t shy about lifting his palm to his mouth to taste the results.

Funny how quickly things that had once seemed taboo became natural instinct.

Tony had to stretch his hands up and steady himself on the angled ceiling...Naked Tree Pose...because his vision was sharpening, his focus narrowing…

It was time for Eddie Vedder to go back to Seattle.

“Get rid of the shirt, Bucky.”

Two seconds later it was on the floor.

“Now the pants.”

_Poof..._ they were gone.

“Tell me what you want,” Tony heard himself say as he watched Bucky grinding his ass against the sheets...

His answer was to spread his arms wide and whisper, “You,” before he opened his mouth and ran his tongue across his teeth.

There was a part of him that screamed ‘why?’ as he looked down at his misshapen chest, his own erection (not bad)...and fuck!...the grey hairs in his pubes. But another, much smarter, part of him was louder, reminding Tony of the things he had to offer: like frittatas...Liebe...punishment...and pleasure…

Sooo much pleasure...

Lifting one foot, Tony set his heel just above the root of his Bucky’s cock, pressing into the soft part of his stomach the tiniest little bit. “Be specific.”

“I want my present.”

He added pressure with his toes. “Try again.”

Bucky’s eyes almost rolled into the back of his head when Tony slipped his big toe into his belly button. “Please, Tony. May I have my present?”

“There you go, baby. Of course you can. Go ahead and grab it, then flip onto your belly and bite the ribbon with your teeth.”

Bucky. Baby. Belly. Boner. Tony hadn’t felt this amped up in a very, very, very long time. And once Bucky’d done as he’d been told, Tony tested the waters again, gently sitting down on Bucky’s ass and rubbing the muscles in his shoulders as he ducked down to catch the ribbon in his mouth.

Tony loved putting things in Bucky’s mouth...and Bucky loved spreading open his lips…

“Pull.”

As soon as the knot came undone, Tony rolled his hips forward…rubbing his very hard cock over the bumps in Bucky’s spine before reaching over to help him lift off the lid.

And there, under three layers of black tissue paper, was the delicately boned corset that Tony’d had specially made for his perfect submissive/boyfriend?, sending Bucky’s precise measurements to a master craftsman in London. It was a beginner’s corset, something that would cinch Bucky’s waist only an inch or two, but Tony had put so much thought, care, and yes, amore into the design. Burgundy silk brocade to complement Bucky’s tanned skin, rich brown leather wrapped around the edges and following the boning so he’d be comfortable...

Tony had been been dreaming of the moment when he finally got to lace the burgundy strings ever since he’d placed the order after their art therapy session on the ledge...

“Tony, I…” Bucky subtly pressed his ass up, rolling it along Tony’s dick. The perfect response.

“Would you like me to hold it up for you?”

Bucky nodded, but the line of his shoulders tightened, muscle and metal seizing together in a way that Tony recognized as the beginnings of uncertainty.

Sitting completely still, Tony calmly asked, “Or do you need a minute?”

“No. Please...show me…”

It was a calculated risk, but Tony went ahead and lifted the corset out of the box, pausing so Bucky could see all the details as the ribbons fell over his arms. They looked so pretty there, the rich red reflecting on the edges of the vibranium plates...

“Roll over, baby,” Tony whispered, laying the corset to the side because he wanted to hold him…he needed to hold him.

This wasn’t about Pepper, and it wasn’t about Steve. It was about here. Now. Them. And both of them...Tony and Bucky...Bucky and Tony...as a semi-stable unit needed a really long hug.

When Tony gathered Bucky into his arms, their cocks touched for the first time (purely accidental, by the way), and Tony instantly knew that Bucky did need a minute. His breath had gotten caught in the upper part of his chest, and he was eyeing the silk and leather with a look that Tony couldn’t quite read.

Caressing the sides of Bucky’s face, Tony tried his best to stay calm when he said, “Please tell me your color, babydoll.”

“How’d you know?”

Tony didn’t understand. Tears were welling up in Bucky’s eyes, and Tony backed off immediately. It was the first time that Bucky had outright ignored a command. _“Woah,_ Bucky. What’s your color right now? Answer me.”

“It’s green, Tony...but I don’t understand how you knew…I…”

Bucky was losing the scene. A manic look crossed his face as he pushed up onto his elbows, knocking Tony off balance before Bucky grabbed his waist with both arms. “This girl, Betsy, I took her dancing this one time, and I felt it...under her dress. She thought I was trying to get fresh with her because I kept running my hands up and down the boning, and she slapped me right across the face when I tried to sneak my fingers underneath her breasts, just to see what I was feeling…how the structure worked. I’ve always wanted to try one...back then and now...but, Tony, I’ve never told anyone...not even Steve…”

Tony had to pull him back (even though everything inside Tony was screaming ‘he likes it!) because Bucky’d spoken out of turn.

“Stop.”

The wildness in Bucky’s eyes ratcheted up even further as his pupils blew. Erotic stories (yes, Tony peeked at Iron Man fanfiction) were always filled with detailed imagery of light blue irises being engulfed by passionate black, but he’d never seen it with his own two eyes…

It was a little more sci-fi than expected...

Bucky suddenly attacked his face. Not in the scary way that would’ve made Tony regret sending the ‘Ketamine Protocol’ back to the compound, but with pure, unbridled lust. Hands, spit, and tongues were everywhere all at once, and Tony made the quick decision to give Bucky a minute...to give them a minute...to make out like horny teenagers in love.

Right before his eyes, the cute little beagle slobbering all over Tony’s wet earlobes transformed into a great dane puppy that didn’t know his own strength, literally picking Tony up off the bed. Without much choice in the matter, Tony wrapped his legs around Bucky’s waist as he went for a ride towards the bedroom windows. Tony had never been carried...especially not naked, for Christ’s sake...but in the heat of the moment, he had to admit it wasn’t a half bad way to get around.

When Bucky pulled back for air, there was a pretty hilarious ‘oh shit’ moment when he realized that he was holding his very amused Dom like a toddler.

“Oh, fuck. Tony, I’m sorry, I…”

Tony smiled at him, big and bright. “You’re being very naughty right now…”

Bucky seemed really torn between holding onto Tony for dear life and dropping him like a sack of rocks so he could fall to his knees to beg for forgiveness.

Making the decision for him, Tony squeezed his ankles together and kissed Bucky’s furry cheek. “I’ll expect you to ask me to give you a reminder about listening later, but for now, babydoll, put me down and wrap your hands around that column so I can cinch your gorgeous waist.”

Bucky did not put Tony down.

Instead, he gasped out, “But...how did you know?”

Suddenly that was the easiest question in the world to answer.

“Well, sweetie pie. When you love somebody, it’s easy to see their innermost desires.”

Love. It felt wonderful to say it...in English.

For being a 240 pound, completely naked super human, Bucky suddenly seemed tiny as the sappy love washed over him and he lowered Tony to the floor (his dignity surprisingly intact).

“We’re in love?” Bucky asked, leaning back against the column in a way that had absolutely nothing to do with corsetry.

“Yep. It’s a full blown romance. I’m gonna buy you flowers. Cut your toenails when you get old… Are you gonna get old?...Whatever. I’ll be your sugar daddy, and you can cut my toenails while I’ll braid your hair.” Tony kissed the scarred skin along the seam of the arm, somehow ending up in Bucky’s armpit.

“You’re not just saying it…”

Kissing his way back out, Tony stood on his tiptoes to brush Bucky’s wild hair behind his ears, really hoping that Bucky could feel the Liebe in the motion of his fingers. But he said the words again, just to make sure. “It’s probably the most improbable love story ever...you don’t need me to remind you of all the plot points...but I’m completely in love with you. Do you hear me? I’m pouring out my heart here, oozing my love juices all over the place...”

They both laughed, and it was so fucking liberating. Naked laughter with Bucky Barnes was now Tony’s second favorite new thing (rimming was still firmly in first place).

“Hey, Tony?” Bucky tipped his chin towards the corset on the bed. “I’d really like to try it...”

Whistling long and low, Tony focused on resetting the scene. “Before we can do that, we have to talk colors again.”

“Vert.”

Still too eager, too up to properly begin again.

“Nope,” Tony said, popping the ‘p’. “I know it’s gonna be hard to recover after my love juice declaration, but I need you to be serious.”

Bucky dropped his head so they were cheek to cheek, almost like they were slow dancing without moving their feet. “I’m sorry, Tony. I’m green.”

And Tony had to take a few more invisible steps to decide if he was green too...if he could get his emotions under control and guide them through something this intense without fucking it up.

“And you’re going to listen?”

Exhaling against the crook of his neck, Bucky whispered, “Yes, Tony.”

When it came to sex, Tony could think about race cars and speedboats all he wanted, but right now, the only thing he was thinking about was doing right by Bucky...

“Okay, baby. How about you turn around and grab that pole? Bend over so I can see that pretty ass of yours?”

The sly smile that spread across Bucky’s face was sexy and adorable at the same time, and before Tony could even blink, he was already sensually bending at the waist, slowly, slowly, slowly sliding down the pole.

His mouth was back to watering, because his ass was pretty, indeed...

Not only did Tony retrieve the corset in double time, but he took it a step further and got the lube out of the drawer, which was...holy shit. It was like they’d never slipped out of the scene.

Lining up his hips and laying the corset on Bucky’s back, Tony uncapped the bottle, seeing how they would fit together, how far Bucky would have to spread his legs for Tony to make him feel the most, then stepping back to pull him apart just enough to press his thumb against the rim. “Don’t move,” he said, gauging Bucky’s reaction. “You’ll take what I give you, and nothing more.”

So far so good.

So very, very good.

Tony dropped the corset strings down in the middle of Bucky’s crack so they dangled just behind his balls. The desire to reach around and tie them around Bucky’s cock was very real, but that kind of play would have to wait for another day. Instead, Tony brushed them aside with his middle finger and pushed in the tiniest bit, feeling Bucky relax as he moaned...

74 years. That’s how long it had been since Bucky’d been penetrated with a loving hand. Tony took a deep breath, steading himself, putting Bucky’s needs before his own desires. He checked in before he moved another millimeter, and when Bucky whispered, “Green,” Tony felt another one of those zaps to his heart.

Sliding his finger inside of Bucky felt like a privilege, a new beginning that he’d chosen to share with Tony…

As he slowly pressed in and out, Tony flicked the strings so they’d swing, brushing against Bucky’s inner thighs to add sensation as Tony pulled, added another finger...listening to the dirtiest of sounds as he got high on Bucky’s moans.

He wanted to make love to Bucky in the corset. He had to.

Lifting it off his back, Tony said, “Turn around and get on your knees, babydoll. Then open your mouth nice and wide.”

It was so easy rubbing the leather trim across his lips and watching Bucky licking the seam. One long trail of spit between his mouth and the leather was all it took for Tony’s dick to get completely hard again. “God, look at that...Your pretty mouth made me hard.” Tony placed the top edge of the corset against Bucky tongue. “Now, bite it.”

Bucky didn’t question the command, his teeth sinking into the soft leather immediately.

“I want you to leave an impression, Bucky.” Releasing his hold, Tony left the corset dangling from Bucky’s mouth as he backed up to sit on the edge of the bed. “Harder.”

He ground his jaw to the side.

“Good boy…” Tony ran his hand up and down his dick a few times, getting ready… “Now come drop it at my feet. Let me see you crawl.”

He stayed low, putting on a wonderful show as the burgundy strings trailed backwards between his hands and knees.

“I’m not going to lace you tight, Bucky.” He stroked faster, because Bucky had just slid his head in between Tony’s knees and dropped the corset at his feet. “I’m going to pull the strings just tight enough that you can feel it, so you know who you belong to when I slip my cock inside…”

Now, that might have been a little territorial, but based on the way Bucky had dropped his nose to the floor and spread his knees, he didn’t seem to mind.

It only took a few seconds for Bucky to step into the corset, but Tony took his time lacing the strings, appreciating how the natural curve of Bucky’s waist folded into the boning.

When Tony was satisfied with the fit, he said, “Turn around and let me see.”

Bashful, yet beautiful. The slight dip of his dimpled chin allowing his crazy hair to fall over his shoulders. The slight blush to his cheeks as he looked at Tony through lowered lashed.

“You’re a masterpiece. Nothing short of perfect, baby.” Tony touched himself again, making sure Bucky’s eyes were locked on the the motion of his hand when he asked, “And my question for you is, will you lie down for me? Do you still want to?”

There’s a time for orders and a time to ask permission. This was the latter.

Bucky swallowed, answering by sitting down at the edge of the bed and leaving his legs hanging over the side. “I do…” he whispered, settling onto his back. “Please, Tony. I do…”

When Tony gently hooked Bucky’s right leg over his shoulder, he made sure to tell him everything that was about to happen, right down to the copious amounts of lube. There was no way in hell that Tony was going to let this hurt.

“I’m going to slip inside you now, Bucky...” Tony kissed his calf and ghosted his fingers across the skin just below the corset. “Are you ready to feel me? For me to show you with this cock how much I love you?”

“Jesus...Tony.” Using his foot, Bucky pulled him closer, lifting his hips so all Tony had to do was push… “I’ve never been more green… Please, I can’t wait anymore.”

A first time making love...

The look in Bucky’s eye when Tony leaned into his leg, barely touching Bucky’s ass with the head of his cock was a thousand things all at once: excited, nervous, desperate, sensual, trusting…

“I love you,” Tony said as he took the leap, slowly pushing inside and watching for fear, for pain, for panic...but Bucky only relaxed around him, curling his back and allowing Tony to push deeper and deeper in one long slide. And, Jesus, he felt so fucking good.

Now, Tony was a strong man, tough, resilient, patient, but there was no way in hell that he was gonna set any records for stamina in this situation. There were many levels of fucking: the wasted kind where you end up partying a lot harder than expected with Dared Spaghettio, the fast and furious kind where you can’t feel a damn thing because everything’s so unwieldy, and the slow kind where you need everything to be a little bit harder...a little bit more. But this? This was slow and hard. This was Bucky bending up around the corset and grabbing Tony’s hips to pull them together in long, hard, thrusts, every inch catching just right, hitting the right places, and bringing them both to the very edge of control.

Honestly, fuck control...

“Touch yourself, Bucky.” Tony pushed both of his knees wide and back, so he could watch the in and out, the wetness of the lube making everything sound so fucking dirty. “I’m about to come so hard inside you, and when I do, I wanna see you cover that corset. Can you do that for me?”

Bucky’s soft hand wrapped around his dick in an instant, pumping furiously as he hooked his knee with the metal one, lifting his head so he could watch the wonderfully dirty slide too. Keeping the strokes long and hard, Tony paused for a second when he was the deepest, words turning into nothing but grunts, moans, and when he felt his balls tightening, a fucking growl.

“Please, Tony...” Bucky’s cheeks were turning red and he let go of his knee to spread himself even wider with his metal fingers. “I can’t...oh fuck...you feel...I’m…”

And that wildness, the desperation of trying to be good, of trying to wait...well, let’s just say that Tony wasn’t that strong of a man.

“Now, baby. Come for me…”

Before Tony could even finish the sentence, the orgasm rocked through his body, and Bucky arched his back, perfectly aiming his cock to pulse all over the burgundy brocade. The intent had been to come deep inside Bucky, but Tony couldn’t stop himself from pulling out and finishing right on top, covering Bucky’s hand, criss-crossing his sticky mess, and shooting a few drops into his sweaty chest hair.

Hair was stuck to Bucky’s forehead, his cheeks...and he was panting... “Holy fuck, Tony...I need…” He grabbed both of his knees, pulling them back and presenting to Tony. “I need you to put it back in…”

Tony didn’t have to asked twice.

Scooping two fingers full of their combined mess off the corset, Tony took his time pushing it deep inside the man he loved, which...holy shit. Tony was really all in (literally and figuratively).

And when Tony collapsed onto Bucky’s chest, slowly kissing him for what felt like hours, the ‘L’ word became something so much more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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	4. Rocky Mountain High: More than just a John Denver song?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading our collaboration for the 2019 Captain America Big Bang! The support of you wonderful readers and art lovers is EVERYTHING to us creative types. You rock! 
> 
> Please be mindful of the tags. This chapter includes a panic attack and an alcoholic character.
> 
> A very special shout-out to Jett, who introduced me to the band Slaves over on my Stucky AU "The King of the Jocks: The King of the Misfits". I named a character in this chapter after them because Slaves are AWESOME!

 

******** D Day. 

Not Dom day. Not donut day. Not dry-cleaning day.

It was departure day aka doomsday, also known as little dom/big Dom day.

Eleven lovey-dovey days and eleven lovey-dovey nights had passed since Tony had laced Bucky into his corset for the first time, and it had been non-stop smoochy teenage obnoxiousness. Tony hadn’t felt this much like a teenager when he’d  _ been _ a teenager.

Bucky hadn’t slept in his hut once. Sure, he’d been rolling around in the hay and dirt with his bony cows and weird looking chickens during the day, but at night, he’d been all Tony’s. One could say that they’d become bedfellows  _ (naked _ bedfellows), and the kind of traditions that were typically associated with the word ‘monogamy’ had already started forming: Tony lovingly hitting the release on the arm before bed so Bucky’d be more comfortable while they slept. Tony ‘begrudgingly’ embracing the feeling of being the little spoon more often than not. Bucky rolling out of bed somewhere around six to make a big pot of coffee before he pitter-pattered around the suite, thoughtfully gazing out at the jungle as he scratched his unbelievably firm ass and lightly blew across the edge of his coffee mug.

But eleven days and eleven nights wasn’t enough time. Or maybe it was. Or maybe it wasn’t…

Tony sighed, blew a raspberry, and groaned, all in one go.

Pitter-pattering, loud peeing, coffee brewing, ass scratching, the wonderful  _ smooch _ of a morning breath kiss, and the quick ‘I love you, Tony’ before Bucky would head down to the farm…

Funny how quickly you can get used to the noises another person makes in the morning.

But not today. Today Tony’s sexy farmer had flown the coop well before dawn to check in with his goat sitter one last time before they hopped on a jet plane to places unknown, and Tony had woken up alone.

The distinct lack of Bucky had been...and still was...a real problem.

Tony’s attempts at solving the problem had been, in order: pouring a very healthy shot of whiskey into his first cup of coffee, taking a very cold shower, and when that hadn’t helped, starting over and taking a very  _ hot _ shower. After those techniques had totally bombed, Tony’d tried putting on his most comfortable pair of sweats and a soft t-shirt that had a picture of DJ Meow Mix (meaning an orange tabby) tearin’ it up on the decks. Then he’d started packing…

It wasn’t going well.

There were clothes everywhere: on the bed, on the floor, on the chair… Not to mention that a pair of Tony’s underwear was hanging off the lampshade and the indigo scarves were still tied to the headboard (last night had gotten a little  _ Bucky Gone Wild).  _ Point being, Tony’d put jack shit into the actual suitcase.

This time around, packing was about so much more than playing Tetris with shirts, silk ties, running gear, and erotic bunny masks. Tony wasn’t just packing for his big return to the Big Apple...he was packing to go back to a life that he wasn’t sure he wanted to go back to.

But vacations had to end, and no matter how tempting it was, Tony couldn’t stay in Wakanda forever. People needed him. The  _ team _ needed him. And there were only so many excuses he could make for putting off projects, skipping boring meetings with boring people in boring clothes, and avoiding the Legal Avengers.

Plus, he had to deal with the escalating situation with the kid. Face to face. Mano y mano. Up close and personal. A real-life teenage intervention. Fact: Underoos ‘inexplicable’ desire to play for the A-Team was gonna get him killed. And if that happened, Tony’d have to bust out his set of fountain pens and write ‘Death of Peter Parker’ directly below ‘Destroyed relationship with Pepper Potts’ in the official Stark Fuck-Up Ledger. Two cleverly alliterated double ‘P’ monikers stacked on top of one another? What were the odds?

Tony groaned super loud in the empty suite, because yeah, responsibility _...blah, blah, blah… _ but that wasn’t the reason he’d woken up on the verge of a mental breakdown. No siree. That honor went to the crippling fear that unlikely relationships couldn’t survive outside of literal utopian bubbles...especially when Captain Spicoli’s ganja cloud was waiting for them over the horizon.

Completely giving up on organization, Tony started aggressively jamming everything into the empty suitcase.

Bucky deciding it was time to see Steve was a  _ good _ thing...a healthy thing... _ progress  _ (actually, they’d decided together...but who really paid attention to the details?). The eventuality of a Steve/Bucky reunion had been the reason they’d started this whole experiment in the first place. It was gonna be  _ fine. _ Great. There’d be group hugs. They’d sing Grateful Dead songs and bake Rice Krispie treats together while Steve educated them about the critical differences between Purple Haze and Pineapple Express. Tony was excited. Pumped.  _ Yippee... _

“Boss, you’re supposed to meet Mr. Bucky on the tarmac in thirty minutes.”

FRIDAY’s muffled voice had drifted in through the bedroom door. The Mark 47 was in the broom closet, which, by default, meant that  _ FRIDAY _ was in the broom closet. It was a long story.

“I’m sorry, FRIDAY, I didn’t catch that.”

She was smart enough not to repeat herself.

Giving up on packing altogether, Tony moved on to greener (and less stressful) pastures, wandering into the living room with his hair of the dog.

“FRIDAY, did pre-Madonna Sean Penn send the coordinates yet?”

“No, boss,” came her muffled reply. “Although Mr. Bucky has arranged for a refueling stop in the United States.”

Tony stomped towards the broom closet. If he was gonna get into FRIDAY’s shit, he had to do it face to door.

“FRIDAY, you know damn well that tells me absolutely nothing! Bucky could refuel on US soil and literally fly  _ anywhere! _ He could refuel in Maine, have me thinking I’m gonna get a juicy lobster for dinner, and instead, I would end up floating around with a starving polar bear on a melting iceberg in Greenland while Stupid Steve dips his lobster into Bucky’s butter.  _ Or  _ he could top off the tanks in the Sunshine State, and I’d end up sitting in the backseat of a pristine 1954 Continental...of course, Bucky’d sit shotgun...while Captain Cuba drove around with a big fat cigar sticking out of his beardy mouth. Are you getting my drift here?”

Tony knocked on the door, not because he expected the Mark 47 to answer, but to emphasize his fucking point.

“I mean, how the hell am I supposed to know if I need to pack my banana hammock and sunscreen or dig up some depression-infused Kurt Cobain flannels for a mournful visit to the legendary Sub Pop Records? This lack of trust is really fucking with my ability to pack efficiently.”

“I can’t imagine a scenario where you’d need to put your banana in a hammock, boss.”

Sighing, Tony pressed his head against the door, squeezing in a quick therapy session with his incredibly sensitive AI. “I mean, the guy trusts me to stick my banana in his depression-era love muffin, but he won’t tell me where he’s been hiding out with the Gridiron Gang? I’m calling bullshit. It’s a trap.”

“I didn’t get that sense from Captain Rogers…”

“Whatever,” Tony interrupted, banging his head against the door in time with his pounding headache. Real talk: The waking up alone, the ‘packing’, the hangover, not knowing where the hell they were going, and the banana hammock uncertainty were all ganging up on Tony and pushing him over the proverbial ledge.

Slamming open the door, Tony looked at the suit (mop in one hand, bucket in the other)...

...then he slammed it back shut.

He needed another whiskey with a splash of coffee before he could deal with the rust bucket.

Exchanging the empty mug for the entire bottle, Tony decided to give packing another go (meaning he was gonna ‘go’ back to sleep). But there were too many clothes thrown all over the bed, and Bucky’s Air Jordans were on his pillow, and there was a ton of sex juice (yeah, you heard that right) all over the sheets, and even though Tony was small, he was never gonna fit…

Tony needed to drink faster.

Taking a healthy swig (who needed spiced bran muffins?), Tony scanned all the shit, quickly realizing that there were only two things in this room that he  _ really _ cared about: the ceramic bowl from their very first scene and Bucky’s corset…

He took another sip, that wasn’t a ‘sip’ at all.

The love making corset. The ‘I love you’ corset. The lovey-dovey corset that Bucky’d worn beneath his dark blue dress shirt at the  _ hype _ going away party T’Challa and Princess Peach had thrown them last night…

And just like that, the demonic incarnation of insecurity  _ poofed _ back into existence (the bastard), materializing in the armchair with fire blazing between his horns as he absently sculpted his claws with a cheap nail file. Crossing his hooves like he owned the place, the demon implied with one overly-bushy eyebrow that Tony’s days of making sweet, sweet love to Bucky Barnes were over…

“Loki’s horns were cooler,” Tony snapped, because he was annoyed, horrifically hungover (say that three times fast with a headache), tired, pissed...and completely devastated by the sight of the corset. “Also, I’m naming you Stewart.”

Stewart kept filing his nails, and Tony needed a fucking drink.

He eyed the bottle of whiskey in his hands.

Correction: he needed a  _ stronger _ drink. (Tequila!)

Now, one would assume that the exchange of those three special little words would’ve taken care of Tony’s Stewart situation, but apparently the prick had been chillin’ in the background, casually reading his US Weeklys, and biding his time till the morning Tony had to fly  _ somewhere _ and return his ‘boyfriend’ to sender.

“Fuck you, Stewart.” Tony slammed the bottle on the nightstand and started throwing everything back  _ out _ of the suitcase, trying his damndest to bury the Hellboy rip-off under a mountain of meaningless clothes. Bonus points for underwear ringers on sup-par horns.

_ Logic _ said that Tony was overreacting.  _ Logic _ said he wasn’t gonna lose Bucky just because they were paying Stoner Steve a visit! _ Logic _ said there was a polyamorous love fest in the works and that before Tony knew it, the three of them would be running naked through Strawberry Fields, wearing hand-woven flower crowns, their twigs and berries flopping everywhere while they spouted off clever sonnets about the wonders of the ‘triple spoon’.

Sadly, when Stewart was doing his dirty work, logic was completely obscured by his shifty eyebrows.

Once upon a time, one of Tony’s  _ many _ attractive therapists had suggested making a list of pros and cons when faced with overwhelming uncertainty and/or imaginary demons; Tony’s questionable first effort had been titled ‘The pros and cons of sleeping with my therapist’.

But he digressed.

Throwing the last of his tank tops at Stewart’s smug face, Tony flipped him off, collapsed backwards into the sweaty, come-covered sheets, and got to work...

 

The Pros and Cons of a  ménage à deux possibly becoming a  ménage à trois :

Pro: A face to face with Stupid Steve (who was  _ still  _ wearing sunglasses during their video conference orgies) would, _ minimally, _ clear up a  _ lot _ of unanswered questions.

Con: The part about the orgies was a lie. Captain America had _ not _ gone XXX, choking his chicken on camera while wearing a pair of mirrored aviators. Don’t go running to the tabloids.

Pro: There _ had _ been lots of conversations about the  _ possibility _ of orgies.

Con: Since the word ‘orgy’ hadn’t  _ actually _ been used in said conversations, Tony might‘ve relied too heavily on inference when coming to that conclusion.

Pro: Bucky could’ve chosen to visit his wartime lover solo, but instead he’d insisted that Stark & Barnes were a killer acoustic duo, who, in the future,  _ might  _ upgrade to a jazzy trio who played high energy Duke Ellington songs and ‘got busy’ after their regular Friday night gigs.

Con: Tony was  _ really _ good at thinking about orgies, and  _ really _ bad at making lists about pros and cons.

  
  


Kicking the empty suitcase off of the bed, Tony tipped his head to stare at the corset, impulsively putting it over his face. He hadn’t cleaned last night’s festivities off the brocade, so he was overcome by the smell of sex and the memory of drunkenly falling on his ass when he’d tried to unlace the strings. Side note: They’d had an amazing time at the party, had a wonderfully sloppy quickie, and Tony’d fallen asleep with his cock still inside...

“Boss,” FRIDAY yelled (although ‘yelling’ for an AI was more like cranking it up to 11). “Mr. Bucky will be expecting you…”

“I’m having a meltdown,” Tony mumbled, trying to get high on the smell of crusty come.

“Should I call someone?”

Tony was impressed (with himself) that FRIDAY’s sensors were amazing enough to pick up his patheticness underneath all the leather and jizz.

“No. Just dispatch T’Challa’s fastest carrier pigeon with a hand-written message for  _ my _ dirty farmer. The wee little note should say, “Darling Bucky, due to a technical glitch, all super cool Wakandan jets have been grounded until further notice. Put on your raspberry beret, hop in your little red Corvette, and return to the palace immediately so I can rub purple soap all over your nuts. Love, Symbol.”

“Sorry, boss. All carrier pigeons are currently busy delivering other messages full of obscure Prince references. I’ll send out the drone.”

It said a lot that Tony didn’t try to stop her.

His fingertips were starting to tingle...and he could hear Stewart hissing and growling underneath the contents of the suitcase...and he’d drank  _ way _ too many of T’Challa’s sassy sibling’s fruity concoctions last night...and he’d drank too much ‘coffee’...and  _ logically _ he knew that his horrific hangover wasn’t doing his emotional stability any favors, but his flight or flight response couldn’t care less. And Steve…

Brutal kicks to Bucky’s head...exploding limbs...shields splitting Tony down the middle...all Steve had to do was lean in...push the shield two more inches and cut Tony in half…

Fuck.

Was it bad that he couldn’t feel his left arm?

“I’m pretty sure I’m croaking, Stewart,” Tony croaked (puns even in the face of death). “Go ahead and ring up Lucifer...tell him to prep my room, I’m checking in early. And he better not forget to put a fancy piece of chocolate on my pillow! Tell him I like truffles. Although, come to think of it, chocolate probably melts in hell...”

“Mr. Bucky is on his way,” FRIDAY interrupted. “Ten minutes out.”

“Ten minutes?” Tony wiped the back of his hand across his sweaty forehead (confused even in the face of death). “The tarmac’s a 20 minute walk! Is he on a motorcycle? I bet he’d look fucking  _ fantastic _ on a motorcycle…”

“He’s running, boss. From the farm...”

The farm was a solid _30_ _minute_ power walk, and the idea that Wakanda’s White Wolf was sprinting across the savannah like a cheetah…

No. Stop. Too many animal comparisons.

The idea that Wakanda’s White Wolf was sprinting across the savannah at max super soldier speed to rescue Tony from  _ himself _ made his panic triple. If the jizz scented corset wasn’t covering his face, Tony knew he’d be seeing spots.

“No. Stop him. Tell him I’m fine. He doesn’t have to run. I’ll meet him at the plane in a jiffy. It’s all good.”

“I’m sorry, boss, I can’t. He’s running faster than the drone.”

‘He’s running faster than the drone’. Well, that must be quite the sight.

Fipping the corset off his face, Tony rolled over into the fetal position like the big baby he was. The room was spinning. And not just a little. If Steve was the  _ squeaky _ swing and Bucky was the teeter-totter, then Tony was taking up the mantle of the mother fucking merry-go-round.

Tony didn’t want fast! He wanted  _ slow. _ The gentle rhythm he’d found with the world’s deadliest assassin/animal lover was something he’d  _ never _ had before, and when he woke up tomorrow with a sore back from sleeping in a crappy tent in the middle of a Colorado pot field, he didn’t want to discover that the rhythm was gone...or find out that it hadn’t been real in the first place.

He didn’t want to go back to waking up alone...

Stewart stood up (underwear and all), grinning from horn to horn. And just like that, he saw Pepper packing her own suitcase...

Pepper...

After Sokovia, when everything had  _ really _ gone off the rails, Tony’d found himself waking up alone in their bedroom more often than not; Pepper scheduling early morning meetings or taking off on early morning runs by herself. After a few weeks, Tony had transitioned to waking up alone on the couch in his workshop with an empty rocks glass on the floor by his shoes. Then, the morning after she’d left him, Tony had woken up alone in the backseat of his Audi, parked on  _ somebody’s  _ lawn with an empty fifth of Jack Daniels still clutched in his hand (and he  _ hated  _ Jack Daniels!). And not that long ago, Tony’d woken up next to a prostitute in a questionable hotel room in Amsterdam. And even though her naked body was sprawled out next to his, Tony’d never felt more alone.

Pepper, Pepper, Pepper, Pepper...

She’d always been so goddamn worried about Tony’s skyrocketing blood pressure, aging ticker, aversion to reasonable bedtimes, panic attacks, recklessness, impulsivity, space monster nightmares, and, last but not least, his similarities to Russell Brand’s  _ Arthur _ in the alcohol consumption department. But Bucky was different: a slightly curved banana to Pepper’s shiny apple. He was so much more grounded...confident _...chill... _ and certain in  _ all _ of Tony’s abilities.

And Tony was fucking it up.

The correlation of Tony chilling the fuck out since Bucky had become  _ his _ boo wasn’t incidental, and the second Bucky realized Tony needed to take him everywhere like a childhood blankie to stay sane, it would be over.

Tony ran his hands through his hair and groaned. Then he started rubbing his caterpillars with the heels of his hands…

Bucky…

What a stupid name.

“Bucky, Bucky, Bucky, Bucky…”

God, Tony loved saying it.

“Mr. Bucky’s taking a shortcut through the palace garden, boss. At the rate he’s jumping the hedges, I estimate five minutes.”

Tony half snorted/half choked. If his face wasn’t totally numb, he might even laugh.

If he could just get his breathing under control… He tried to pull a breath all the way into his belly and totally failed. If he could just get his fucking breathing under control, Tony could remind himself that Iron Man being the big boss in New York, Bucky being down on the farm, and Spicoli hanging ten in Southern Cali with LL Cool J wasn’t going to be a soul-crushing logistical nightmare.

Yeah, right.

_ None _ of this would be happening if Bucky would just come live with him in New York. You know, make it  _ official. _ They could get one of those wooden signs to hang over the door at the compound. Tony’d even whittle it himself! He could see it now: ‘Stark, Barnes and maybe Rogers’. But Bucky  _ liked _ being a farmer...and he liked being a farmer in  _ Wakanda. _

_ Six _ days ago, Tony’s inner sugar daddy had offered to buy Bucky a brand new, shiny herd of goats that could galavant around the compound, mowing the grass and shitting all over the tarmac. Sadly, the offer had been refused (although Bucky’d given Tony a wonderful blow job for making the suggestion).

_ Four _ days ago, over a delightful fruit and cheese platter, Daddy had tried sprinkling a mountain of extra sugar onto to the deal, offering to fly Bucky’s  _ current _ herd of old, dirty goats first class on their own private jet to start a brand new life in America. Sadly, Bucky’d said no to that one too, but they’d been  _ very _ naughty with the fruit (not the cheese) as a consolation prize.

_ Two _ days ago, Super Sugar Daddy had thrown out the cavity inducing idea of building an  _ indoor _ goat farm where Bucky could dress up as a sexy matador and recruit Vision to round up the herd with his glorious yellow cape. Everyone could pretend they were in Spain and the African goats were miniature bulls, charging to and fro while Tony went commando in a toga and threw long stemmed red roses into the arena year-round. For Christ’s sake, Tony’d even build Bucky a scale replica of the goddamn Roman Coliseum if it would get him to move to New York! But Bucky had given Tony’s toga goat idea a thumbs down and had followed it up with a really nice hug.

It just wasn’t what Bucky wanted…

Bucky wanted Tony, but he also wanted Wakanda. And that was something Tony was just gonna have to get used to.

Was 47 too old to figure out it was time to grow up?

Amazingly, his breathing had started to calm down and he was able to stretch out his  _ slightly _ numb arm, running his index finger across the leather edge of the corset...tracing the imprint from Bucky’s teeth.

Even though Bucky wasn’t here, his mark was…and maybe that was how it was going to work.

Suddenly the door to the suite slammed open, which...seriously? If Bucky had knocked it off its hinges, Tony (if he survived) was gonna have to have a serious talk with his boo about overreacting.

“Tony!”

When Big Hero Bucky careened through the bedroom doorway, he had scratches on his arm, he was dripping sweat, and there was a huge rip in the knee of his jeans that had a decent-sized branch sticking out of it.

He was on the bed in an instant, branch and all. “FRIDAY said you were…”

“Ready to go?” Tony interrupted. “Yep. I’m all packed.”

Bucky eyed the clothes all over the room, the empty suitcase, the armchair where Stewart had been (yeah, you better run), then set his metal hand on Tony’s hip.

“FRIDAY said you were having a panic attack.”

“Well, not to be dramatic, but the words ‘heart attack’ crossed my mind...”

“If she thought you were having a heart attack, you’d be in the med lab already.”

“Did I say ‘heart attack’?” Tony tried to laugh.

It didn’t work.

“What I meant to say was  _ ‘packing _ attack’. I had a little trouble packing. The underwear got unruly, but I worked it out. It’s all good now. I’m really sorry FRIDAY made you run five miles in ten minutes. That was very rude of her…”

“I need you to shut up.”

The words had been harsh, but Bucky’s hand was moving in soothing little circles, migrating towards Tony’s belly button. And as shocking as it was, Tony could honestly say that his breathing was pretty much back to normal. Yay, for  _ almost _ handling a panic attack all by his lonesome. Somebody should give him a gold star.

Bucky was staring at him, but  _ not _ staring at him at the same time. It was more like he was closely observing Tony’s chin...or maybe his bottom lip...

“C’mon,” Bucky said, lightly slapping Tony’s belt buckle. “Let’s go hang out by our trees.”

Fun Fact: The secret to calming down a panicking person is being the complete _ opposite _ of panicked: sitting on the floor at a slight distance, looking  _ up _ at the freaked out person, instead of down...avoiding direct eye contact while still being present...talking calmly and factually about the positives...

Tony loved Bucky for understanding that their trees were the most positive thing in their suite.

Walking  _ back _ to the living room, Tony felt weak _...woozy… _ The effects of the adrenaline and the booze were kicking his ass, but Bucky quickly dove into action, pulling the rug over by the windows so they could sit next to their trees. In order, it went: ficus tree, ficus tree, Tony, Bucky, ficus tree, ficus tree. And there they sat, shoulders touching as they stared up at the leaves and Bucky fiddled with the stick in his pants (the  _ actual _ stick, not his dick).

After the two of them had decided to be  _ more _ at Pictionary Waterfall, they’d  _ done _ more at a relatively brisk pace, checking everything off Bucky’s list, then making a brand new (and wonderfully naughty) list  _ together. _ Sure, there’d been the occasional yellow, a pause, but they’d always pushed through the shaky parts, both of them feeling more confident every time they touched…

The Ketamine Protocol had never moved...

Reaching up and brushing his fingers against the low-hanging leaves, Tony said, “Remember the night these trees became just trees?”

“I remember it well,” Bucky answered, leaning his head onto Tony’s shoulder. They were both sweaty, and they both smelled, but it didn’t matter. They’d both smelled much worse over the years...

“Can you tell me about it?” Tony asked, needing to see himself through Bucky’s eyes...needing to understand. “From your perspective…”

Bucky chuckled as Tony pulled out the branch so he could snake his fingers into the new hole in his jeans. It was just above his knee, and Tony was suddenly obsessed with tickling the little hairs underneath (Bucky + body hair = heaven). “It was the night I first opened my mouth for you,” Bucky whispered, kissing Tony’s scruffy cheek (shaving had gone by the wayside the past 11 days, for obvious reasons).

Closing his eyes, Tony settled back into the memory of the scene that had given  _ them  _ the confidence to send three members of the Ketamine Protocol back across the Atlantic (to rejoin their original Iron Man band) and to shove the poor Mark 47 into the broom closet.

“Things had been going so well that I told you I wanted to try,” Bucky said, moving his knee so Tony’s hand could slip even further into the hole. “Using my mouth…” He paused, giving Tony half of a smile. “Using my mouth had been one of my biggest fears, but you’d already shown me how much I could trust you...how much you really cared. You made me feel safe, Tony, and I  _ wanted _ to taste you.”

Sometimes Bucky did this thing with his voice where he lowered the pitch, making everything sound honey smooth like a sexy nighttime DJ. Lucky for Tony, he was just warming up the FM dial…

“Using the four blue scarves you’d picked out just for me, you tied my arms behind my back, telling me how beautiful the muscles in my shoulders looked when I flexed them to test your knots.”

Tony took a deep breath.

“Then you tangled your fingers in my hair, holding my head in place as you carefully slid your cock in and out of my mouth: gently at first, watching, waiting to see if I could handle it...if I liked it…”

“And did you?”

“You know I did, Tony. That’s why you started going faster, hitting the back of my throat as drool poured down my chin.” Bucky’s smile was bright, and beautiful, and a little bit  _ naughty _ when he added, “And when you said you wanted me to come all over your feet after you’d filled up my mouth, I know I slipped under. I remember how softly you kissed my forehead afterwards when you were holding me, making sure I was warm and safe. And, Tony...knowing that I can go there with you...it’s been a fucking gift.”

To an outside observer, it might seem like Tony and Bucky were having a sexually charged, NC-17 conversation about blow jobs when really they were talking about falling in love.

Tony squeezed Bucky’s inner thigh, gettin’ all up in that hole (*snort*), and Bucky (because he was the sweet one) planted another kiss on Tony’s cheek before he said, “I’m scared too, you know.”

Tony nodded, because he did know.

“But I think we’re gonna be okay. Maybe better than okay…”

Reaching up, Tony ran his hand through the waxy leaves. Real talk: He was getting all choked up. Tears were gonna flow. He needed a box of Kleenex and a bag of Oreos on standby…

You see, every morning, after the pitter-pattering, loud peeing, coffee brewing, ass scratching, morning-breath smooching, and the sound of Bucky gently closing the door behind himself, Tony had started a tradition. Using the textured bowl he’d bought for Bucky’s first bath, he’d water the trees, pouring the water into the soil and watching them grow as he and Bucky had become what they were.

Retrieving his hand from Bucky’s hole (it would never cease to be funny), Tony declared, “We’re taking the trees.”

“In the jet?”

“Well, we can’t leave them here.”

Bucky’s eyebrows did the squishy thing when he said, “It’s a two seater. Four in a pinch.”

“I don’t care if we have to strap them into the jump seats, I have to hold two on my lap, or one gets flown home at 35 mph in Broom Closet 47’s arms. I love these fucking trees, and they’re coming with us.”

Luckily, Bucky had come to understand Tony’s particular brand of crazy…

It was  _ Tony’s _ tell.

Popping to his feet and holding out his hand, Bucky said the perfect thing…

“I fucking love these trees too, Tony. Let’s go cram them into a jet!”

***

 

  
The supersonic plane T’Challa had given Bucky for their transatlantic spin was compact, built for speed and stealth, not for use as an impromptu greenhouse. Meaning the tops of the trees were pressed against the roof, bending forward above their heads, and covering the top of the windshield. Probably a safety hazard at Mach 2. 

But the funniest part had to be when they’d started dropping leaves all over the damn place after Bucky’d pulled a few G’s passing over the continental shelf at the edge of Africa. There’d been belly laughs all around, and afterwards, Tony’d settled into the co-pilot seat under his blanket of leaves to sober up  _ and _ sleep off his wicked hangover (in that order).

It must’ve been a smooth ride, because an undefined amount of time later, Bucky had shaken Tony out of a dead sleep at their pit stop (in  _ New Jersey _ of all places) and shoved a bottle of water and two more Tylenol into his hand with a knowing smile. Apparently, the Rogue Avengers had a hook-up with an ex-military dude named Jett who was doing a better job than Wolverine bringing mutton chops back into style. Jett dealt in black market  _ jet _ fuel, which really? Tony wanted to see a birth certificate to verify that coincidence.

Now they were buzzing in a westerly direction, chasing the sun, full stealth mode engaged, and Tony was still trying to decide if dating a Rogue Avenger was more fun than being on the up and up. No one on Ross’ team had the balls to rock mutton chops…

  
  


Somewhere over Pennsylvania:

“Hey, Bucky.”

“Yes, Tony?”

“I dare you to grow mutton chops.”

“I’ll grow mutton chops if you shave.”

“My overgrown goatee is sacred. It’s like Hercules...but on my face.”

Bucky laughed, running a hand over his beard, which, to be honest, already possessed all the necessary ingredients for mutton chop magic. “I’m not giving myself ridiculous facial hair unless you get rid of yours…”

“C’mon,” Tony whined, “I’ll buy you a classic Harley-Davidson, pimp it out with an Iron Man paint job, add the high handlebars like Fonda’s in  _ Easy Rider _ ...you can ride it around shirtless with your mutton chops blowing in the wind…”

“Sounds like you have a fetish.”

“For motorcycles?”

Bucky rolled his eyes.

  
  


Somewhere over Ohio:

“Hey, Bucky.”

_ “Yes, _ Tony?”

“Do you think  _ Steve _ would shave mutton chops if we asked him real nice? His beard is big enough, and he already loves motorcycles...”

  
  


Somewhere over Indiana:

Tony had been busy staring out the window, appreciating the superior quality of T’Challa’s stealth mode and calculating how long it would take to update the Avenger’s fleet, when he suddenly smelled cinnamon.

Flipping around to find the source, Tony was shocked to see that Bucky’d mysteriously acquired a pair of gold aviators (with rainbow mirroring). He was also chewing  _ gum. _

“Where the hell did you get gum?”

“Jett. Want a piece? It’s cinnamon.”

“Where the hell did you get those glasses?”

“I dunno. I was thinking about riding my new motorcycle with my bushy mutton chops and...  _ poof!... _ I was 100% cooler.”

“They look just like Steve’s.”

The smile that Bucky sent his way was sassy as hell before he whispered, “Steve’s are silver.”

  
  


Somewhere over Iowa? Missouri? Kansas? (corn fields were shitty landmarks):

“Hey, Buck Buck.”

“Yes, Tony?”

“I know where we’re going.

“No, you don’t.”

_ “Obviously, _ we’re heading to So Cal to meet up with Steve at Muscle Beach. He’s gonna woo us with his rippling muscles by lifting giant tires like the worst version of Batman, then he’ll do a million squats wearing short shorts with a big fatty hanging out of his mouth.”

Bucky blew a bubble, popped it, and gleefully said, “Wrong.”

“Too bad. ‘Cause this one time, at band camp, I totally popped a boner when Steve was wearing short shorts.”

 

Somewhere over Colorado:

When the amber waves of grain had turned into purple mountain majesties, Bucky’d slowed down, giving Tony the distinct feeling that his stoner theory had been right on the money. Somewhere around the fourth or fifth time Steve had shown up for a video chit chat in a pair of shades, Tony’d let it slip that he’d been imagining Steve hiding out and getting high in the Rocky Mountains. And right now, the  _ only _ thing Tony could see was mountains…

“I hope Steve cleared out a big enough space for you to land this thing in the middle of his pot fields. Wouldn’t want the engines to burn up his crop. Although, if we ran around in the resulting cloud of smoke, all three of us could all go full Spicoli: getting totally wasted before we really get this party started.”

Bucky chuckled as he started dropping their altitude. “Wrong again.” He sounded pretty damn convincing, even though the quickly changing scenery said otherwise.

Spring had officially sprung in the good old USA, and the lower Bucky flew, the more Tony could see the last remnants of snow, the buds on the trees, and other pretty shit related to springtime in the mountains. It wasn’t Wakanda, that was for  _ damn _ sure, but it did look peaceful...welcoming. When Bucky did a few maneuvers around the mountain peaks, Tony knew he was giving them both a little extra time to take in the view.

“Thank you, Tony.”

There’d been no lead-in to that sentence, only a sharp turn that dropped a few more leaves into their laps, a piece of gum being stuck to the dash (right above the fuel gauge), and a hand finding Tony’s thigh. Maybe it was because the words had been unexpected, but Tony found himself speechless (and jokeless).

“You showed up in Wakanda to help me when you rightfully should’ve handed me over to Ross the second you found out where I was. You forgave me for things that are unforgivable, and became not only my friend, but my…”

Drifting off, Bucky let go of the stick and pushed the sunglasses on top of his head, choosing to fly no-handed for a few seconds instead of letting go of Tony’s thigh. And Tony really looked at those fingers, knowing  _ exactly _ what they’d done, and still loved them completely.

“You taught me to believe in myself again,” Bucky continued, “and I just want you to know how grateful I am.”

They were buzzing the tops of the trees; evergreens standing at attention as Bucky slowed the engines. “I wouldn’t be  _ here _ without you.” Bucky flicked his eyes toward the clearing in front of them. “And I wouldn’t  _ want _ to be here without you by my side.”

Pretty damn eloquent for a dirty goat farmer.

As Bucky set the jet down in a clearing of evergreens (sadly, not weed), Tony’s eyes focused on the house in front of them. It was built into the side of the mountain, the flat plane of the clearing quickly giving way to a sharp rise in elevation, and there were three levels, each with a beautiful wooden balcony stretching across the facade that overlooked the valley below. Tony laughed outright when he spotted the tie-dye flag (featuring a giant pot leaf) hanging from the railing on the upper balcony and the three snowboards leaning against the stone entranceway.

Tony didn’t like to cry, but that stupid stoner had played his cards perfectly for maximum tears.

“I think Steve’s carrying this a little too far, don’t you? Renting a place just to make a joke...”

Bucky kept flipping buttons, shutting everything down. “Wrong again.”

The front door to the house was suddenly pulled open, and Steve walked out onto the porch, wearing his stupid silver aviators, his stupid beard, his stupid wide shoulders, and his stupidly pretty hair, waving at them with a huge stupid smile plastered across his big, stupid face.

“Not a rental, Tony. Steve even told me that it’s less than a mile walk through the woods to get to a chair lift that takes you to the back bowls of Vail...if you felt like learning how to snowboard next winter.”

Wow.

That was it. That was the thought.

There was tie-dye, and snowboards, and Vail...and enough marijuana for everyone to get blazed for the next 20 years. And Steve getting closer and closer in a pair of authentic Spicoli checkered Vans. For real, people, Steve was legitimately wearing a red checkered flannel with the sleeves rolled up, and he looked...good.

“Are you ready?” Bucky asked, looking at Tony and  _ only _ Tony…

A first adventure...

Returning the super intense eye contact, Tony said, “Are  _ you _ ready?”

A tiny little nod. A sugar sweet smile. An expression that said ‘I love you’ in a million little ways...

“I think so,” Bucky answered, giving Tony’s cheek a big ol’ smooch as he popped Tony’s harness.

It was everything that Tony needed.

Steve had stopped in front of the jet...about ten feet out...and Bucky tentatively raised his metal hand to wave. And when Steve waved back with his stupidly wonderful smile, Tony knew exactly what to say.

“I love you, sweetheart,” he said, returning the favor and popping  _ Bucky’s _ harness. “And I’m pretty damn confident that we’re gonna be really happy smoking primo weed with the lumberjack stoner hanging out in front of our plane.”

“Yeah?”

“As long as he lets us put our trees on the top balcony.” Reaching up, Tony gave the branches a little reassuring pat. “I mean look at that eastern exposure. These guys are gonna love it here.”

When Bucky smiled, Tony didn’t hesitate, sliding both hands around the back of his beautiful neck and kissing him gently on the lips.

Kissing his lover…

Kissing his boyfriend…

Kissing the future...

Tony looked through the windshield one last time, the glass and metal between them fading away to nothing when Steve Rogers smiled bashfully and slowly took off his sunglasses…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story has been a pleasure through and through: getting the opportunity to work with the wonderful Lorien/drjezdzany again (who is the world's best friend, best art muse, and the world's best beta...no lie), writing something soft and sexy, and exploring Tony and Bucky's characters in new and exciting ways. Everything about this years CapRBB was a joy.
> 
> Let's talk! We love, love, love comments and kudos, so feel free to drop your thoughts in the box. New ship, new conversations. :)
> 
> Find lucidnancyboy/Jessie Lucid here:
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>  [Tumblr](https://lucidnancyboy.tumblr.com)   
>  [Twitter](https://twitter.com/jessielucid?lang=en)
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> Find Lorien/drjezdzany here:
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>  [Tumblr](https://drjezdzanyart.tumblr.com)

**Author's Note:**

> We love comments and kudos, so feel free to drop your thoughts in the little box. Let’s chat about this naughty Wakandan adventure!
> 
> Find lucidnancyboy/Jessie Lucid here:  
> [Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/jessielucidart/?hl=en)  
> [Tumblr](https://lucidnancyboy.tumblr.com)  
> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/jessielucid?lang=en)
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> Find Lorien/drjezdzany here:  
> [Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/drjezdzany/?hl=en)  
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